Playing For Keeps
by Thalia Kendall
Summary: DONE! Oliver Wood, Captain and Keeper of Puddlemere United, certainly has a busy season. And in a game against the Holyhead Harpies, he meets an unexpected match. Will this game have effects on not only his Quidditch career, but his life as well?
1. A Lifelong Love Affair with Quidditch

**NOTES:**

            ::Groan:: Yes, Thalia has started a new fic. Be very afraid. Because I felt that it was necessary to endow the world with an Oliver/OC fic that was NOT a Mary Sue. YES, it can be done. REALLY.

**DEDICATION:**

            To Cassie T, who inspired me to write this fic in the first place.

**DISCLAIMER:**

            Don't own them. Boyfriend would have conniptions. Enough said.

*~*~*~*

            "So, do we know who's the new Chaser for the Harpies yet?"

            "For the 312th time, Oliver, _NO!_" Byron Carvallo, the team manager of Puddlemere United, rolled his eyes at the Captain of the team, "They aren't saying a word."

            "Is there any possible way for us to find out?" Oliver Wood, pacing restlessly in front of his teammates, asked, a harried expression on his face.

            Blank looks and faint shakes of heads greeted him. Harry Potter shrugged, "I asked Angelina last time I was at the Burrow. She wouldn't tell me a thing. And out of them, you know she's the one closest to us…"

            Oliver scowled, "Bloody team loyalty…" Angelina Johnson-Weasley, a Harpies Chaser, had once played under him as a Chaser while they were at Hogwarts.

            One of Oliver's teammates, by far the most troublesome in Oliver's venerated opinion, smirked, "Exactly. She's loyal to her team. She's not going to spill who their new Chaser is, even to you, Wood."

            Oliver ignored the jibe, and continued to pace, "I bloody want to know who it is, if we've heard of her before, and whether or not she is a threat to our current victory streak!" He once again looked at his team, and stopped on the Chaser who had spoken last with the quip about Angelina, and groaned at his expression.

            "_Dare I ask what sort of depravity are you considering now, Warrington?" Oliver sighed. _How_ exactly the former Slytherin Chaser had gotten on his team, and managed to stay for the past three years without either of them having bludgeoned the other to death with a broomstick was still something of a mystery._

            "Actually, by my standards, nothing depraved at all," Carl Warrington said blandly.

            "Then what heinous, underhanded, most likely illegal maneuver are you contemplating?" Oliver rolled his eyes at the Chaser.

            "Well, you _could_ always invite Dustyn Carter to dinner. That woman wants to shag you… you invite her, shag her, imbibe her drinks with Veritaserum, and your problems are all solved! Well, assuming that you and your noble hotheaded Gryffindorishness don't get caught, and you're willing to shag her for this information…" Warrington was obviously enjoying himself hugely, and at Oliver's expense. Not that this was anything particularly unusual. Dustyn Carter was thirty-nine, and the publicity agent for the Holyhead Harpies that Puddlemere would be facing on the Quidditch pitch in the very near future. She was rather loquacious of temperament and yellow of teeth. She also had a serious, acute case of _Desiris Wooditis. All these facts were common knowledge among the team, and several players stifled guilty laughs. Oliver, however, looked properly horrified._

            "…NO."

            "Oh, why not? Even for the good of the team?" Warrington laughed, raising an eyebrow.

            Oliver shook his head like a baby rattle, "That… that woman is _scary_."

            "I've seen worse…" Warrington shrugged, "I was in the same year and house as Hortensia Bulstrode."

            "B-but… I'm _not_ going to be a… _male floozy_, even for this type of information!" Oliver blanched, "Besides, Veritaserum is _illegal!"_

"You're no fun," Warrington snickered.

            "Well, where _your_ idea of fun might constitute being incarcerated for spiking the drink of someone nearly old enough to be my _mother_ with highly-controlled truth potion… mine isn't." Oliver shot back, "And I don't want to be in a relationship with _anyone_ right now, much less Carter! She's thirteen years my senior!"

            "Who said I would be incarcerated?" Warrington chortled impertinently, "Only if I were caught."

            Oliver glared, "You're not helping."

            "I know."

            "Bloody smarmy Slytherin."

            "Thank you."

            "If you were so bent on that plan, why don't _you_ do it?" Oliver glowered at the younger man. Warrington laughed.

            "Carter doesn't want to shag _me_. So… it's incumbent upon you, our esteemed and revered captain, to take this task upon yourself for the betterment of our collective future." Warrington and his sententious oratorical pseudo-pomposity could give that of Wood's old roommate, Percy Weasley, a run for its money when he saw fit, except Percy, unlike the Slytherin, didn't smirk, making _his_ portentousness less infuriating.

            "You're _still_ not helping."

            "Ah well," Warrington did not seem too disturbed by Oliver's increasing ire, and shrugged expansively, "I tried."

            "No, you didn't."

            "True… but you can pretend that I did."

            Beater Seamus Finnegan, sitting next to friend and former roommate Harry Potter, glanced at their increasingly irritated captain and the Slytherin who was quite deliberately causing this irritation, and whispered, "So how long d'you think this will go on before Wood will storm off and we can go home, since we knew that we weren't going to find out anything about the Harpies' new Chaser anyway?"

            Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes, before whispering back, "Well, Warrington seems to be up to his usual standard. Give him another five or so minutes."

            Seamus nodded and grimaced slightly, "It's rather unsettling that we're going to owe Warrington one for… mm… '_expediting this meeting_'… so we can go home."

            "Oh, I'm _sure_ he's enjoying himself," Harry said dryly, "Although… I _do_ wonder who the new Chaser is… there aren't that many girls of a reasonable age who play Quidditch professionally… I can't seem to recall anyone from Hogwarts who could fit the position. I mean… the female Chasers I know of… either they're already playing professionally and we know it, or they're doing something else entirely."

            "Yes… curious." Seamus looked thoughtful, then grinned, "Oh well… I guess we'll see." He glanced at his watch. "Hmm… a few seconds more should do it."

            As if on cue, Wood threw his hands up in the air in frustration, made an unintelligible noise between a sigh and a groan, and stalked out. The rest of the team watched his retreating back for a few moments, before shaking their heads wryly and leaving as well.

*          *          *

            Although Harry had been used to Oliver Wood and his overzealous fervor in regards to imminent-game-practices since the very beginning of his Quidditch career, even he was rather bowled over by the final pre-game practice.

            Oliver Wood was a meticulous planner. He always, _always_ knew exactly what the strengths and weaknesses of his own team were, and most of the hours not spent on figuring out how to minimize the weaknesses of his own team, were spent coming up with how to play up the weaknesses of the opponent team.

            Unfortunately, when there was a big unknown as far as who the third Chaser of the opponent team would be, this became rather difficult. 

            It was especially bad that the unknown person in question was a _Chaser_. That meant that he, Oliver Wood, as the Keeper, would have to play in opposition of her. And that he would be going into the game with no idea of her strengths and weaknesses, her favorite moves, how she interacted with the other Harpies, or even her flying style.

            Needless to say, this made Oliver Wood, conscientious, ardent Quidditch captain that he was, very uncomfortable.

            Also needless to say, this _discomfort_ was transferred onto the rest of the team.

            Finally, after five straight hours of going over every Quidditch maneuver known to experts, and several known to no one until that day, an exhausted Puddlemere team went to the locker rooms to take showers and go home for bed.

            "Whoever it is bloody _better_ be as good as Oliver thinks she might be," Seamus groaned as he rubbed healing potion on the blisters that had developed on his hands after gripping a Beater's club for five hours without cessation. "This is nutters," he said to Harry, "Was he this _bad_ when you played under him at Hogwarts?"

            "Not quite," Harry replied, "You'd almost think that he were trying to impress her or something."

            Seamus sniggered, "If it were any other bloke but Oliver, I'd think that. But with his lifelong love affair with Quidditch, it's rather doubtful."

            "True enough," Harry shrugged, "Unfortunate, that. Oliver deserves someone... he's really a good bloke underneath the fanaticism."

            "Yes... and some unbridled shagging would do him a world of good... but who deserves Oliver? Does there exist someone like _that?_"

            "Perhaps... anything is possible," Harry said with an air of optimism. "Well... I'm off. See you in the morning."

            "Bye, Harry."

*          *          *

            The Holyhead Harpies, led by Captain and Seeker Cho Chang, had one last team huddle in the locker room before they were due to fly out.

            "All right, ladies," Cho smiled at the six other faces. "I know that we'll all try our best. Chasers, watch out for Finnegan; he's brutal with the bludgers."

            One Chaser, dark hair framing a somewhat pale, intense face, smirked and rolled her eyes slightly, "Don't worry, Chang. I'm _sure_ that we can handle them."

            Angelina Johnson-Weasley gave her fellow Chaser a slightly quelling look, as if to say 'listen and don't talk'. The first sneered slightly, but quieted. Cho cleared her throat, and continued her speech, reiterating to Beaters Skyler Zabini and Alice Brocklehurst the importance of the Doppelbeater Defense; in a game against blokes, they would have to win by means other than simple physical strength. Finally, after wishing each and every young woman the best, the green-clad women strode towards the door that would lead them to the Quidditch pitch.

            The stadium was filling with people, and a loud, jovial voice boomed out over the din of the crowd. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome! I am your Commentator, Henry Partridge. Today, we have Puddlemere United versus the Holyhead Harpies facing off in the air! Let's give a round of applause for both teams!"

            The crowds cheered loudly, and on cue, the players of both teams flew out onto the pitch. Partridge' voice bellowed out over the applause, "For Puddlemere, we have _Corner!_ _Entwhistle! Finnegan! Turpin! Warrington! Wood! Aaannd... POTTER!"_

The Puddlemere team flew a lap around the stadium, and then Oliver Wood landed and dismounted in the center of the pitch, just as the commentator began to announce the names of the Harpies.

            "For the Harpies, we have _Brocklehurst!_ _Fawcett!_ _Flint!_ _Montague!_ _Weasley!_ _Zabini!_ _Aaannd... CHANG!_"

            As the Harpies flew out, Oliver Wood stared up, in shock. Flint? _Flint?!_ His eyes scanned the air as the women took their positions. All right... the one at the goalposts was Montague. Obviously, the dark-haired Beater was Zabini, while the fair-haired one was Brocklehurst. Fawcett, and of course Angelina he knew from school. Flint?

            And then, his eyes met those of a dark-haired, lithe, scowling young woman perched on her broomstick. She glared at him, as if daring him and his team to try to beat them. Oliver's eyes widened, then he shook his head wryly. Yes... a Flint all right. How many times had he seen that scowl directed at him before, albeit on a more masculine face? Now... how come it was that he had no recollection of seeing her anywhere at all while in school?

            Cho Chang dismounted across from him, and, smiling, held out a small hand for him to shake. Oliver turned his attention from the disturbing young woman who was evidently the Harpies' secret weapon, and waited for the cue to begin the game.

            A handshake, and then, Oliver and Cho were both in the air once again. The bludgers and snitch were released, and Skyler Zabini, Beater club raised, followed the trajectory of one black ball with her eyes. All of the sudden, she found herself looking at a Puddlemere Chaser as the bludger flew right over his head. Carl Warrington saw the Harpies' Beater looking at him a moment later, and stared unabashedly back. She gave him a quizzical look, an unspoken 'what are you doing?', and he gave her a very deliberate, "if I try hard enough I can see through your robes" smirk. She merely quirked an eyebrow, and a moment later, with the release of the Quaffle, the exchange of glances was temporarily forgotten.

            The dark-haired Chaser Flint captured the Quaffle immediately, shooting off for the goal hoops in a frenzied, completely single-minded fashion. Dodging Entwhistle's attempts to capture the Quaffle from her arms, she pressed on, barely swerving out of the way of a bludger pelted by Seamus Finnegan. However, the swerve gave Warrington the opportunity to steal the Quaffle out of her arms, with a curious, almost apologetic grin, and fly the opposite direction. Flint glared at his back and followed.

            Warrington passed the Quaffle to Zachary Turpin, who shot off towards the goals, and Flint, unheeding of the bludger hit her way by Michael Corner, followed. Turpin scored the first shot against Harpies' Keeper Montague, and Flint practically snatched the Quaffle on the rebound.

            The game continued, and though Puddlemere had always trained very strenuously and did very well, the new Harpies Chaser was merciless. The same sort of "win, or die trying" playing philosophy that had characterized Marcus Flint was present in her as well, in double doses. She got hit on the back with a bludger, and merely gritted her teeth and kept going, despite the obvious pain on her face. Within the first six hours, the score was 120:80, Harpies, and half of those goals had been scored by Flint.

            Then, it was time for refreshments, and the teams took a brief break from the game to eat some food and take in some very badly wanted water. Ten minutes later, they were back in the game, and Warrington, in possession of the Quaffle, streaked off towards the goals.

            He managed to score a shot, making the score 120:90, and was about to attempt to capture the Quaffle from the possession of Angelina Johnson-Weasley, when Skyler Zabini, evidently holding a grudge for the insolent smirk he'd given her at the beginning of the game, smashed a bludger towards him with deadly accuracy. He missed getting hit in the head and knocked out of the air by mere centimeters, and escaped with only a bruise on his arm where the bludger had grazed him when he swerved. Glancing back for a brief moment before continuing after Angelina to get the Quaffle, he saw the dark-haired female Beater give him a beatific, ridiculously innocent smile.

            At that moment, Commentator Partridge gave an exclamation of surprise when Harry Potter, Cho Chang at his heels, started diving. Potter had seen the snitch, and was now chasing it frantically across the Quidditch pitch, ducking a bludger from Brocklehurst and zooming towards the Harpies' goal hoops. About seven inches away from the center goal hoop and a foot away from the ground, the snitch flitted like an elusive firefly in the summery lawn of the pitch. And Harry, having learnt over the years to put civility aside when necessary, brushed Cho's arm out of the way, and leaned forward, his hand closing around the golden prize.

            "_And Puddlemere wins the game, 240:120! Potter captures the snitch after six hours and seventeen minutes of play! Well done, both teams!"_ Henry Partridge was crowing into the magical megaphone, and still in the air, Oliver Wood gave an uneasy smile. That game… his team had played well, even Warrington, snarky bastard that he was. But indeed… the new Harpies Chaser, Flint-of-the-venomous-scowls, was quite skilled. How was it that Marcus, whatever relation he was to her, had not allowed her to play at school? She could have been a real asset to their team… did Marcus Flint's chauvinism really extend so far as that? In any case, he, Oliver Wood, would make sure to seek her out, and ascertain her playing habits, where and how she learnt, and other vital information. A simple policy of 'know thy enemy', of course.

            With these thoughts in mind, Oliver landed on the ground, giving a half-hearted, rather preoccupied smile and wave to the wildly cheering crowds, and headed for the locker room to shower before paying the other team a visit. A girl who played Quidditch. All right, probably a Slytherin, what with that scowl and that name, but… a girl who played Quidditch. How bad could it be?

            He obviously never lost his Gryffindor idealism.

*~*~*~*

And that's chapter one of the Quidditch-filled Woodfic! Hope you like it so far, review and let me know!


	2. Civility is Overrated

**NOTES:**

            In which there are many altercations. Are you surprised? Don't be.

**DEDICATION:**

            To Skyler Sage, awesome feedback provider and sounding board. _Thank you_ for all the help on this fic, and others!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            They're _all_ mine!! ::bwahahahaha:: Come on, you know who is mine and who isn't. Blah.

                                                                                        *~*~*~*                                                     

            Carl Warrington strode out of the locker room, his hair still damp from the shower and too lazy to charm it dry. Well, well! Of all the people! Cass Flint, taking up the open Chaser position for the Holyhead Harpies! 

            Cass had been in the same year as him when they'd been in school. Friends, almost like brother and sister. She and big brother Marcus had had a rather stormy, strained relationship, with most and most vicious arguments usually centered about the sport that both of them loved. 

            Warrington would sometimes let her borrow his broomstick to practice. And she was damn good. Quite enormously talented, in fact. Unfortunately for her, she had not been allowed to play on the Slytherin Quidditch team. And really, it was as much a loss for the team as it was for her.

            Flexing his sore shoulder a bit, he noticed someone leaning against the wall of the women's locker room. Rather tall for a woman, a copy of _Beater's Bible_ in front of her face, held up by slim but tanned and strong-looking hands attached to leanly muscled arms clad in the crisp white sleeves of a blouse. Long legs were clad in functional khaki trousers, and brown leather boots. She had a simple but well-made moss green cloak draped but unfastened over her clothing, and she put her book down when she heard his footsteps approach.

            Dark hair, smoke-violet eyes… eyes that lit up with an almost-mocking merriment when she saw who it was. "Hello," the simple word was spoken in a coolly amused voice.

            "Hello to you too," Warrington greeted with a smirk, "You're the one who nearly cracked my skull open… Brocklehurst, is it?"

            The young woman rolled her eyes in ineffable mock-contempt, "If you think that I'm a _Ravenclaw_, obviously I didn't hit you hard enough this time, hmm? The name is Skyler Zabini."

            "Ah… yes, Zabini. Must be related to Blaise, I suppose?"

            "Yes. He's my self-appointed royal pain-in-the-arse," Skyler said candidly, with a grin.

            "Ah… older brother, then. I'm Carl…"

            "Warrington. Yes, I know. Cass remembers you. Called you a swarthy git."

            "Tell her thanks, then. Actually, I should go and see her. Assuming that she's not in the shower or something… or it might not be good for my health…"

            "Well, seeing as to how you play _Quidditch_, which by definition is dangerous and can be quite 'not good for your health'… Although I do have to agree that disturbing Cass in the shower or something might be bad. Knowing her, she'd probably concuss you with her shampoo bottle." Skyler said helpfully. 

            "Why, does she use a lead shampoo bottle or something?" Warrington asked with genial sarcasm.

            Skyler shrugged, "Oh, knowing Cass, even if the thing were made of marshmallows, she'd still find a way to concuss you with it. But hmm… wonder what she's up to. Usually she'd be out of the locker room and reading _Quidditch__ Through The Ages_ by now."

            "Perhaps she has a secret lover who is visiting her and they're shagging in the shower?"

            "Doubtful… _very_ doubtful," Skyler laughed wryly. "I'd like to see some bloke try… he might not have any means to shag _anyone_ ever again."

*          *          *

            Contrary to Carl Warrington's speculations, Cass Flint was not being accosted by a paramour in her shower. Oliver Wood had caught sight of her as she had stepped out of the locker room, now dressed in plain blue trousers and shirt, but still wearing the self-same scowl that she'd had on the pitch.

            She did not see him, but he had addressed her. "Oi, Flint."

            Cass Flint had halted in her tracks at the unfamiliar voice, but did not speak. Oliver walked up to her and stopped in front of her. She did not look at him.

            "That was a good game you played," he began, "You're quite talented... more than I'd expected, really."

            His compliment seemed to have the complete opposite effect to what he'd expected, and finally, she looked up, though her expression was positively lethal.

            "Sod off! Don't you _dare_ patronize me!" she hissed.

            Wood blinked, "I wasn't..."

            But the girl glared up at him, eyes spitting flames, "Oh, I'm _better_ than you expected, hmm? Just because I'm not one of you bloody Gryffindors or one of the blokes doesn't mean that I'm shite on the pitch!"

            Oliver Wood felt his irritation rise, and he matched her scowl with a frown of his own, "Look here, Flint. I generally don't go about chasing after girls like you and telling them how good they are at Quidditch. And I _wasn't_ bloody patronizing you, I was just telling you that you played a good game! Bloody hell..." he gave Cass a sneer that any Slytherin could have been proud of, "Would it kill you to be nice and smile once every now and then?"

            Jutting out her chin and staring him straight in the eye, Cass gave a vicious nod, "For you? Yes it would!"

            Oliver gave a snort of half-disgust, half-bemusement, "Blimey... you're a nasty piece of work, even for a _Slytherin_!" The words came out almost involuntarily, and Cass gave a sharp inhalation of surprise and anger. And then, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face.

            "Hmph!" whirling around in a fit of fury, she stormed off. Oliver stared moodily after her retreating back for a moment, then scowled and stalked off himself in the opposite direction.

*          *          *

            When Oliver Wood met with his teammates again, he was in a very bad humor indeed. The others gave him wary glances, then one by one, they filed away, to celebrate their Quidditch victory without having to deal with a fuming captain. Harry ventured to invite Oliver to drinks, but his request was met merely with an irate sort of grunt, and the Seeker walked off as well.

            One person, however, stayed behind, and Oliver was sure that Warrington loitered about for the express purpose of irritating him further. Pointedly ignoring his Chaser, Oliver started putting away his Quidditch robes.

            "So, how did it go?"

            "Sod _OFF_, Warrington," Oliver growled. Needless to say, Warrington blithely ignored the order.

            "Oh, sorry to see that you weren't successful in chatting up the opposition," Warrington's voice sounded anything _but_ sorry, and Oliver reflected that his Chasers... well, one in particular, needed to do more bludger drills. He made a mental note of that for the next practice.

            But for the meantime, he settled for glaring at the Chaser, "I'm not in the mood for this."

            "But I am," Warrington smirked, as if this settled everything, "Too bad... it would have been interesting and fun if you _had_ succeeded in getting in their good graces."

            "THEN WHY DON'T _YOU_ 'CHAT THEM UP'?" Oliver snarled. 

            Warrington grinned smugly, "Already did. It went quite successfully, too. You, my man... are lacking some essential Slytherin charisma."

            "Thank _GOD_ I'm not a Slytherin," Wood growled, "That little Flint chit is one nasty, belligerent bint... absolutely barking mad, that one..."

            Warrington raised an eyebrow, and his expression sobered, much to Oliver's surprise, "Cass? Well... ah... you don't really understand... but then, that's only to be expected." And as Oliver blinked in mystification, Warrington picked up the bag in which he'd put his uniform, walked out of the locker room, and Disapparated.

            "What the devil is _that_ supposed to mean?!" Oliver Wood asked to no one in particular.

*          *          *

            Oliver Wood was a Gryffindor. He had the Gryffindor courage, daring, high-mindedness and quick, sometimes reckless impulsiveness. This generally played in his favor in Quidditch. He was bold and innovative; an excellent captain because of his willingness to take the initiative, and his high, idealistic spirits served as a natural motivator for his team. 

            He also had the comfortable Gryffindor tendency to not dwell much on things after they'd stopped affecting his life. He didn't tend to hold grudges.

            So, by the time that three days had passed since the game against the Holyhead Harpies and the subsequent altercation with the irascible Ms. Flint, he was once again at peace with the world.

            The team went out to celebrate their victory as a whole group, going to a popular, new establishment in Hogsmeade known as "The Fat Fwooper". Despite the rather outlandish name, or perhaps because of it, most of the 'younger set' of the day liked to gather there, and enjoy the more social, quick environment than that of the more traditional Leaky Cauldron, or the more widely populated Three Broomsticks.

            The Puddlemere United team, some more willingly than others, basked in the admiration of the rest of the patrons, signed several autographs, and took a few pictures. And... had drinks bought for them by a few avid fans. 

            "So... what'll happen next, Captain?" one eager young man of about eighteen that, to the Gryffindors on the team, bore a disturbing resemblance to Colin Creevey on Alihotsy, asked, practically quivering in excitement.

            "Er, well... the next game this season is Holyhead Harpies against Falmouth Falcons," Oliver ventured, "And... well, we're waiting for results to see who's going to be on the national team when we compete for the World Cup..."

            "Ohh, the Harpies!" the young man beamed, "That was a _brilliant_ game! Their new Chaser... what's her name?"

            Oliver scowled, "Flint."

            "Cassandra Aurora Flint," Carl Warrington supplemented, "Age 24, former alumna of Hogwarts School in Slytherin House."

            "Is she any relation to Captain Flint of the Falmouth Falcons?" the young man turned his attention to Warrington, grinning like a jack-o'-lantern, "Ooh, if she were his wife... that'd be _interesting_, wouldn't it?"

            "Actually, that would be sick-making," Warrington deadpanned, "Marcus Flint is her older brother."

            "Ohh! That would still be interesting then! He's a Chaser too, isn't he? Who's better, d'you think, Mr. Warrington, sir?"

            Warrington smirked, "Well... I guess we'll see during the game, hmm?"

            "Yes, of course! Mr. Wood, sir... how did you feel during the game, playing against her?"

            Oliver scowled, "She was a good Chaser." His tone indicated that he did not really wish to speak more on the subject, something quite unusual for him, as someone who was usually so vociferous on the subject of Quidditch.

            "Oh boy! I hope we get to see more of her! That way she put that last shot past you, Captain... that was pure _artistry!_"

            Oliver's good mood deserted him for the rest of the evening, and the team, sighing, made their excuses and left the pub soon thereafter.

*          *          *

            About a week after the ill-fated excursion to Hogsmeade and The Fat Fwooper, Oliver Wood found himself in Diagon Alley, depositing the earnings from the last Quidditch game into Gringott's. Quidditch certainly paid well... and overall, it was a good, interesting job. After the defeat of Voldemort three years ago, the Aurors' Guild no longer needed so many people in active duty. This resulted in several people, most notably Harry Potter, Cho Chang, Angelina Johnson-Weasley and Draco Malfoy joining up with Professional Quidditch Teams after leaving the Aurors' Guild. Out of those four, the first three were still playing. Draco Malfoy had been the Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons for two years, before he had suddenly eloped with the last girl that anybody had expected him to. Now, Draco Malfoy and wife Virginia lived peacefully in a luxurious penthouse in London, and both worked for the Ministry of Magic; the former for the Department of Magical Games and Sports, the latter for the Department of Experimental Charms. And spent the rest of their time raising their two strawberry-blonde offspring.

            The Falcons, replacing their Seeker, had done an ironic thing. Whereas Draco Malfoy had replaced Terence Higgs as Seeker in Hogwarts, now, the older Slytherin Seeker had taken over after Draco and Ginny had eloped. 

            But Oliver's mind was not on either Terence Higgs or Draco Malfoy at the moment. His entire attention, temper and frustration happened to be focused on an entirely different Slytherin.

            It was just his luck that, coming out of Gringott's, who would he run into but that fractious Flint chit, coming out of Madame Malkin's? 

            He had been bent on pretending not to be there when some thrice-damnable fan-girl had caught sight of both him and Flint and screeched out, in a voice loud enough to breach a Silencing Charm, that the two needed to stand together so she could take a picture of them that might one day be worth a million Galleons.

            In Wood's learned opinion, such a picture would never be worth anything. And moreover, he _hated_ empty-headed, obsessive, bloody _mercenary_ fans like these. One glance at Flint's mutinous face told him that she shared this opinion.

            He felt an almost irresistible urge to scream at the twit taking the picture, "_SEE?! _Even _Flint_ here agrees that this is nonsense! Now go about your business and leave us bloody alone!"

            Except, of course, that would be _bad_. It might look to the fan and the various others who had gathered round at the photographing flea-brain that he and Flint were close or something. People jumped to the most _preposterous_ conclusions after all, and if they looked even remotely like they were in agreement on something, the _Daily Prophet_ would have headlines talking about an impending marriage soon.

            After pictures, autographs and numerous nosy questions, both Cass and Oliver were in more or less a towering rage at the world, and centering it on each other for the sake of convenience. As soon as the twits had left the scene, Cass wiped the painful, plastic grin off her face and scowled at Oliver.

            "Bloody miserable sodding _arses__!"___

Oliver glowered right back at her, "I did _not_ want to deal with that nonsense today."

            "Blast… _this_ day has been going spiffingly so far," Cass muttered to herself, "An impending afternoon of genteel purgatory in the land of tea-cups, and having to take mug shots with a _chauvinistic pillock_…"

            "Look here, Flint…" Oliver ground out between clenched teeth, "You're no angel yourself…"

            "Thank bloody Merlin for _that_… who in their right minds would _want_ to be? And what's it to you? None of your damn _business_ how I behave, is it? I'll do as I sodding please, Oliver Wood, and neither you nor any other will stop me," she hissed at him.

            "Why would I _want_ to even take the effort?" Oliver spat out, "I'd have to put up with your antisocial behavior on a regular basis!"

            "Hmph! Antisocial, huh? Typical for a male… any female who isn't a bloody porcelain doll is either gay or antisocial or both!"

            "What the devil _is_ it with you and jumping to the most illogical, horrid conclusions? Who skewered _you_ with knitting needles as a child? _Honestly!_"

            "I don't have to put up with your shite! I'm _leaving!_"

            "FINE!"

            "FINE!"

            It was becoming quite obvious that civility would be impossible. Perhaps… just perhaps, if they were really, _really _determined and willing to work at it, they might be able to act their own age. 

            Unfortunately for that hypothetical aspiration, neither of them were Hufflepuffs.

*~*~*~*

REVIEW!!


	3. Sibling Rivalry

**NOTES:**

            Another Quidditch game in this chapter, pitting brother against sister! And the plot thickens!

**DEDICATION:**

            To Alice, my music swapping and rpg-ing buddy! W00t for all things Quidditch-y and angsty music!!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            No one cares. I repeat, NO ONE FUCKING CARES.

*~*~*~*

           "So, are you sleeping in the spectator stands tonight, or are you going to go home sometime?" The woman on the ground looked up at the one still in the air, arms akimbo, one eyebrow raised.

            "I'll be done in a bit, Sky…" Cass Flint drew her arm back, and ferociously launched the Quaffle through a goal hoop. Diving and catching the red ball on the rebound, she threw again, with a fierce sort of grunt, dark hair whipping in the wind as she swung her arm forward. 

            Twenty-one-year-old Skyler Zabini looked curiously at the older woman, an amused smiled on her face, "Whose head are you pretending you're throwing the Quaffle at this time?"

            Up in the air, Cass said something about chauvinistic bastards who put too much emphasis on their "equipment" to see how far their heads were stuck up their arses.

            "Oh, come off it, Cass… Marcus might very well be a blinkered pillock at times, but he fancies that he's trying to do for your own good. Blokes are stupid like that a lot of the time… they don't know what they're doing, but they mean well. Usually." Skyler said reasonably. Cass, in the air, gave the Quaffle one final, violent fling, and flew downward towards her friend and teammate.

            "It's not just Marcus…" the Chaser's eyes were dark slits of fury on her face, "Did you _see_ that Oliver Wood after the game against Puddlemere? _WHAT_ a complete prat!"

            Skyler blinked, "What d'he do?"

            "Bloody git thinks that just because I'm a _girl_…" Cass was about to launch into a tirade, but Skyler shook her head.

            "Now, now… don't get yourself worked up. But that's strange… he was the captain of the Gryffindors when he was in school. Angelina was on his team. He doesn't seem the type to underestimate girls."

            "Oh, but you didn't see his _attitude!_" Cass huffed, and glared at nothing in particular for a moment longer, before taking a deep breath and calming down. Skyler grinned.

            "Oh… how sad. But you did well enough against him in the game against Puddlemere, I'm sure that whatever else, he considers you a worthy adversary on the pitch," Skyler said in a comforting tone of voice, "Now… are you ready for the game against the Falcons day after tomorrow?"

            "Of course I am!" Cass smirked, "Marcus is going to _bite_ the _dust_."

            "Now, now… don't injure your brother _that_ badly, Cassandra," Skyler said in a severe, sententious voice disturbingly reminiscent of Professor McGonagall of their schooldays, "We wouldn't want Karen after your blood…"

            "Don't see how she could put up with the git, much less marry him…" Cass muttered and rolled her eyes. Karen Bletchley had, once upon a time, played for a year for the Slytherin Quidditch team as Keeper. Then, when Cass had reached fourth year and there had been an open Chaser position on the team, Marcus had disallowed females to play Quidditch for Slytherin House. Karen, understandably furious, had not spoken to him for years afterwards, despite the fact that the two had begun dating right before that time. She'd gone on to play for the Harpies as Keeper, until almost two years ago, when she and Marcus had met up again after a Quidditch match, and had somehow been able to leave past disagreements aside and resume their relationship. Karen had left the Harpies a year after, happily married and expecting a child, and the Keeper position had gone to the reserve, Kala Montague. Cass, though by her standards usually got along well enough with her sister-in-law, could not see either what Karen saw in her brother, the narrow-minded idiot, nor how Karen could have forgiven Marcus for kicking her off the team in their schooldays.

            "Ah well… love is a weird, disturbing, generally-not-advisable thing," Skyler said breezily, "But enough of that. Just… play your best, and leave smiting Marcus and such to me, hmm? Wouldn't want you to get penalized for cobbing or blatching."

            The twenty-four-year-old Chaser made a noncommittal noise, shrugged, and headed for the showers. Skyler watched her friend and rolled her eyes heavenward, "Oh dear… I'm almost tempted to owl Marcus and warn him… but that would be much less fun."

*          *          *

            On the morning of the Quidditch game between the Holyhead Harpies and the Falmouth Falcons, Carl Warrington strode towards the Falcons' locker room with all the assurance of someone who was close friends with a goodly number of several team members. 

            Marcus Flint was in the middle of giving his team the usual, somewhat-bombastic-but-nevertheless-effectual pre-game prep talk. In the middle of warning Beater Vittorio Derrick "for _FUCK's_ sake, do _not_ foul, and _keep the bludgers bloody OFF of Ca_--…"

            "… You know, Flint… if you do that, she's going to hate you for the rest of her life," Warrington interjected as he strode in. Flint whirled around, then gave his former teammate and friend a mock-glare before grinning and pulling the younger man into a rough, manly hug, clapping Warrington on the back.

            "Warrington! You old bugger… how've you been?"

            "Corking… yourself?" Warrington smirked, "As I was saying… don't try to keep Cass safe… she's going to fly _at_ the bludgers if that's what it's going to take to win. And she expects anyone who plays against her to treat her like any other Quidditch player on the rival team."

            Marcus shrugged, and changed the subject, and the Falcons and their visitor chatted for a brief time on everyday things before Warrington took his leave. More people to see, more havoc to wreak... but this time, he did not stride into the locker room without a care in the world. Carl Warrington was many things, but daft was not among them. 

            After calling out and ascertaining that no one was naked, he walked in. Cho greeted him politely, if not rapturously, and though Sarah Fawcett and Angelina Johnson-Weasley gave him rather wary looks, the third Chaser smirked at him in welcome.

            "Hullo, you git," Cass greeted him. Warrington smirked right back at her.

            "Spiffing to see you too, Cass. Good luck today."

            "Thanks... go tell Marcus that he's going _down_," Cass grinned wickedly. Warrington laughed.

            "I just did... he wasn't too pleased."

            "Good." Cass took a look at the dubious faces of several of her teammates and rolled her eyes, "Oh, come off it... he's not here to spy on either our Quidditch strategies or the color of your knickers."

            "Let's hope not," Skyler deadpanned, turning Warrington's attention to her, "The color of my knickers you can know, for aught I care... but if you were spying on our game plans, I'd be forced to finished what I'd started in the game against you."

            The Puddlemere Chaser grinned, "Oh really... you just said that you didn't mind me knowing the color of your knickers... and then you threatened me with physical pain. Forgive me, please... but my imagination is _truly_ running away with the possibilities of that statement..."

            All of the Harpies laughed, even Skyler, after glaring at Warrington for a moment. Cass rolled her eyes and swatted Warrington's arm, "Stop flirting with my teammates, prat, and get out of here. People will start thinking that all of us are up to something."

            "Yes... your royal Quidditch menace-ness," Warrington gave an exaggerated bow, and wished Cass good luck one last time before striding out.

*          *          *

            And about twenty minutes later, Marcus Flint and Cho Chang dismounted to shake hands in the center of the Quidditch pitch as Commentator Henry Partridge announced the names of the Quidditch teams.

            "_For the Harpies, we have Brocklehurst! Fawcett! Flint! Montague! Weasley! Zabini! Aaaand, CHANG! Chang, Captain and Seeker, shakes hand with Captain and Chaser of the Falcons, Marcus Flint! For the Falcons, we have... Cornfoot! Derrick! Flint! Hopkins! Pucey! Spinnet! Aaaand, HIGGS! It's going to be an interesting game today, folks, as Flint and Flint face off... sibling rivalry at its most intense, indeed! Good luck to both teams..."_

            The balls were released, and both Flint siblings shot forward in a mad attempt to grab it. Cass ducked under her brother's outstretched arm, and emerged victorious, shooting off towards the Falcons' goalposts. Wayne Hopkins hesitantly hit a bludger at her, and it missed her by several feet, instead nearly smashing Adrian Pucey in the face had the latter not swerved out of the way. Cass scored, seamlessly passing the Quaffle on to Sarah Fawcett, and scowled at her brother. Over the din of the crowd and the Commentator, Marcus Flint heard his sister hissing in his ear, "Don't you _dare_ have them try to take it easy on me!" before Cass flew past him to complete the Hawkshead Attacking Formation with Sarah Fawcett and Angelina Weasley.

            Sarah scored again, and this time, Marcus Flint captured the Quaffle on the rebound, and made off with it towards the opposite end of the field. Skyler Zabini and Alice Brocklehurst exchanged a glance, and both of them zoned in on one of the bludgers, and in a coordinated movement, hit it with both their bats simultaneously. The Doppelbeater Defense... deadly, difficult, and wickedly effective. The black iron menace shot at Flint, who, somersaulting to avoid it, dropped the Quaffle into Angelina Weasley's waiting arms.

            Adrian Pucey shot forward, and as Wayne Hopkins pelted the other bludger at Angelina, he leaned forward and stole the Quaffle from her arms, continuing the trip that Flint had started. As Skyler turned her attention on him, he passed the Quaffle to Steven Cornfoot, who bypassed Keeper Montague, and the score was 20:10. 

            Cass once again caught the Quaffle on the rebound, and zoomed off, eyes narrowed and fixed on the goal posts. Somersaulting on her broom to duck a bludger from Derrick, then swerving to avoid Pucey's attempt to intercept the Quaffle, she continued on, scoring another shot.

            The game flew by, the teams fairly evenly matched: Harpies' precision and brilliant strategies against Falcons' brute strength. An hour passed, and the score was 60:40, in favor of the female team.

            The Falcons grew more daring, and despite probable threats and admonitions from their captain before the game, they decided to make the game a little bit harder for the women. Derrick hit a bludger at Cass as she made another shot, and the reckless girl very nearly took the ball to the head, only avoiding it by scant inches as the score changed to 90:60, Harpies. Marcus scowled, but... to his surprise and disbelief, _Cass actually passed the Quaffle to him!_

            The brother looked at his sister in shock, and as she passed him, she whispered, "Start _playing_, goddammit!"

            Marcus blinked, but continued forward with the "free gift" from his sister, managing to score again. Cass smiled grimly as she caught the red ball on the rebound, and once again, the female Chasers went into Hawkshead Attacking Formation.

            Cass, followed by Angelina, managed to score twice in rapid succession, and just as Angelina tossed the Quaffle through the goal hoop, making the score 120:70, Cho Chang and Terence Higgs started diving.

            Alice Brocklehurst froze in the air as a bludger approached... she _should_ stop Terence Higgs... and there would be victory for their team... b-but...

            Skyler Zabini appeared seemingly out of nowhere next to her and pelted the bludger at Terence, cleanly catching him in the shoulder and knocking him out of his path. Rolling her eyes at the other Beater, Skyler sighed, "Look... just because you're shagging him doesn't mean that you should take it easy on him in a game, Alice. Besides, now you can nurse him back to health and everything... and moreover, he's a Slytherin. I _know_. He _expects_ you to..."

            And at that moment, as the crowd's eyes were focused on the Seekers diving after the golden snitch, Cass Flint was making one last shot.

            And just as Cho caught the snitch... and the Quaffle flew through the goal hoop... the other bludger that had not been hit at Terence Higgs smashed into the back of her head. And as the crowd watched with horrified eyes, Cass Flint swayed, and tumbled off her broom, knocked unconscious.

            "Shit..." Both Marcus Flint and Cho Chang, who had recklessly dropped the snitch after winning the game for her team, shot forward to catch the girl as she hurtled from the sky.

*          *          *

            "Did you hear the news? That new Harpies Chaser, the reckless one... she's got a concussion!" Michael Corner, Puddlemere Beater exclaimed to Oliver Wood.

            Oliver paused in his task of clipping the tail-twigs of his broomstick, and stared at Michael Corner in unabashed astonishment.

            "What?"

            "That Flint girl... she took a bludger to the head at the end of the Harpies/Falcons game... the Harpies won... Chang caught the snitch before Higgs... Zabini had knocked Higgs off-course with a bludger as he was diving... but anyway, the Flint girl was hit with a bludger... she's got a concussion, and will probably be in St. Mungo's for a week or so."

            "Oh," Oliver said somewhat tonelessly. He did not know _quite_ what to make of this news. All right... so obviously, Cass Flint was rather determined. Hell, sod determined... she was damned near reckless and insane. Win the game at all costs.

            All of which were excellent, sterling qualities. And unlike her brother, she didn't even seem to have a particular penchant for cheating to do so.

            He supposed it was providential that a woman with such first-rate, admirable qualities _had_ to have numerous faults as well to compensate for it. Otherwise, she would be well-nigh perfect. Which was a highly... _highly_ disturbing idea.

            He reflected that altogether, it was too bad that such talents were wasted on someone with such a nasty, suspicious and confrontational bint. It made respecting her Quidditch skills very difficult when she was so contentious all the time, for apparently no reason.

            Shrugging to himself, Oliver decided to pull an all-night Quidditch practice session by himself. Starting as soon as Michael Corner had left.

            His team found him the next morning, seeing double and violently sick.

            Fate seemed to have a cruel, sadistic humor... and Oliver Wood and Cass Flint found themselves recovering in the same hospital at the same time.

            It was a matter of great speculation whether or not either of them would survive this ordeal unscarred.

!!! 


	4. Altercations Galore

**NOTES:**

Oh boy... it won't be pretty. Oliver and Cass in the hospital together. Much chaos ensues.

**DEDICATION:**

To Cookie, fellow Flint and Slytherin Quidditch team fan, and the most artistic lj format designer I know. Go Slytherins!

**DISCLAIMER:**

::smites would-be-sue-ers::

*~*~*~*

Oliver Wood awoke and immediately noticed that some things were very wrong.

First of all, there was his bed.

It was certainly not the bed in his flat, the one that had an old Gryffindor banner as the sheet, and a comforter with a moving pattern of Quaffles, bludgers and snitches. Indeed, this bed was... white... all over.

Added to that was the fact that he felt as if his entire body had been run through a wringer. Sure, he was often sore after Quidditch practices, but nothing like _this_. This was miserable, bring-me-some-bloody-pain-potion-NOW from head to toe aching. Rather odd, and _quite_ bothersome.

What the devil had happened to him?

And... of course... besides the fact that he was obviously not in his flat, and seem to have been caught in a hailstorm of rogue bludgers from the way he felt, there was also the small, tiny detail that there was a bed only a few feet away from his... and there was a girl fast asleep on it. She looked about his age or perhaps a few years younger, although her face was not visible from his vantage point, being covered, as it was, with the loose, short wisps of dark hair that fell forward. She was clad in a white sprigged hospital gown, and, like him, covered with a blanket.

Shrugging, Oliver turned his attention to the small nightstand by his bed, and gingerly picked up a full glass of water that was standing there. He brought the glass to his parched lips and sipped the cool water. And at that moment, the occupant in the other bed gave a sigh in her sleep and shifted slightly. Oliver spluttered on mid-sip when he saw her face and recognized who it was, and nerveless fingers dropped the glass on the ground, splashing water all over his pajama top and causing the glass to shatter.

At the noise, the girl's eyes snapped wide open. Blinking and wincing at the sunlight that came streaming through the window, she looked around, uncertain of where she was for a moment, before her eyes focused on another person, a few feet away from her. A sleep-mussed, wide-eyed, almost boyish looking Oliver Wood, dressed in striped pajamas. The top of which was rather drenched in water. Naturally, even for her, the first thought that came to mind was, "He looks _adorable!_"

This did not sit well at all. Slytherins didn't think or _do_ adorable. It was a matter of greatest abomination and scorn for any Slytherin to act or consider anything adorable. And especially not Slytherins like her. That was just... wrong. And especially, _ESPECIALLY_ not of… of sexist pigs! And… yeah! Cass shook her head quickly from side to side, clearing the mutinous thoughts effectually away. Unfortunately, the shaking brought a much more unwelcome advent of a throbbing headache, and she groaned and shut her eyes.

"Bloody sodding git… this is _all_ your fault and I _hate_ you… " she muttered, her face buried in her pillow. Her hands lifted to clutch the sides of her head, and then she bellowed out, her voice still muffled by her pillow, "_SOMEBODY HAD BETTER GET ME SOME BLOODY POTION NOW!! BEFORE I CONCUSS THEM WITH MY BROOMSTICK!!"_

"Charming…" Oliver grumbled, then rolled his eyes. A moment later, a nurse came into the room, and bustled about, fussing over both Quidditch players. Oliver grunted as the nurse handed him a new glass of water.

"How long am I going to be in here?"

"Oh, another week or so should do it, Mr. Wood," the nurse said comfortably, "You should be all rested and rejuvenated by then… just like Miss Flint, here."

"_BLOODY HELL!_" both Quidditch players exploded at the same time, "I'm _NOT_ staying in here for a week!!"

"Oh… but you will have to," the nurse said complacently, "We can't have either of you falling sick later on. And besides, you're both Quidditch players, I'm sure that you can talk to each other to pass the time."

The nurse, thick-skinned creature, did not seem to notice or care about the lethal "you're-daft-and-evil-and-I-_HATE-_you-so-sod-off" glares that both Oliver and Cass sent her way. She gave the latter her potion, and bustled out of the room.

Cass Flint pointedly ignored her fellow patient, downed the potion, and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she was once again asleep, face partially concealed by the unkempt strands of dark hair falling from the crown of her head. Oliver gave her a sideways glance.

"And… she's finally quiet," he mused with a wry smile.

It was a very odd situation indeed.

***

Cass awoke a few hours later to find Oliver Wood sitting up in bed, his face buried behind a copy of the newest book on Quidditch strategies: _Balls and Broomsticks by Flannery Fleet_. Random mutterings were audible every now and then, usually regarding Quidditch strategy.

He was not aware that she was looking at the book with an expression of almost hunger on her face as he mumbled to himself, "The idiot! Of _course_ the Porskoff Ploy would be the best maneuver in that situation… as if there were any doubt… how the bloody hell did that bloke make it onto a Professional team in the first place…"

Cass gave a disgruntled sigh. The bloody _bastard_… how insensitive could one _be_?! Here she was, bored out of her ruddy mind, and _he_ had things to read! She gave a growl and huffed.

Oliver Wood paused in his reading at the sound and set his book, face down, on top of his blanket. "What's the matter with you?"

"Bored…" her voice was almost a whine, "This is bloody ghastly… I could be _practicing_ right now! And there's not a single bloody thing to do in this place! You lucky wanker… where'd you get the book?"

"It's mine… just got it a few days ago, been carrying it with me so I can finish reading it… it's good, but the accounts of some of the games and players… bloody hell how can these people be such _IDIOTS_?!"

"Oh… I _know!_ Once I read about a game between France and Brazil in 1962… these _ridiculous_ fouls that some of them committed! Heinous, really… how anyone could be so incredibly _stupid_…"

It looked like this hospital stay would be even more unusual than they'd thought. Oliver Wood and Cass Flint were… for all intensive purposes, actually having a somewhat civil conversation. In the sense that they were both sniping about something different than each other.

Of course, it was certainly too good to last.

"But can't you _see_ that that move was a ruse to get that Chaser to abandon the Quaffle?!" Somehow, both of them had, by an unconscious agreement, sat down together on her bed, and were flipping through the book and arguing about the information contained therein.

"But for that '_ruse'_, as you call it, to truly work, it would be a foul anyway! So what would the bloody point be?!"

"Look… if he were to fly like this… and then do a dive like so…" Cass was gesturing with her hands in the air, "_THEN_ it would work!"

"But that's preposterous! The rival Chaser could just do _this_…" Oliver, too, was gesturing with his hands, moving one hand towards hers, like the hypothetical rival Chaser…

"_WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING **HELL **IS GOING ON IN HERE?! WOOD, YOU SODDING **BASTARD!!** KEEP YOUR PAWS OFF MY SISTER!!!_"

"And the dung has hit the fan…" Cass groaned, "Marcus, leave it alone… you're going to make my head hurt again, and seeing as to how it's been hurting a _lot_, I'll have to kill you if you make it hurt again…"

But Marcus did not seem to hear. He was too busy glaring at his old Quidditch rival, who glared right back, undaunted. Marcus was bellowing, "What the _devil_ do you think you're _doing_, accosting my sister in her bed wearing pajamas?! Bloody hell I'm going to have to _kill_ you now…!"

"Now look here, Flint!" Oliver snapped right back at the other man, "I was _not_ accosting your sister in her bed! That's just… we were talking about bloody Quidditch!"

"Sure, Wood, that's what they _all_ say!" Flint growled, clenching one hand into a fist and shaking it threateningly, "Stay in your own damned bed!"

"We were looking at a _book_ together! You're _daft_… why would I ever want to accost someone in her bed in this state? _HONESTLY_, and especially your sister! I _wouldn't_ accost her!"

"What?! Is there something wrong with my sister?! She not good enough for you?!"

"WHAT?! What does that have to do with anything?!"

"Indeed… what _does _this have to do with anything?" Cass muttered cynically, "Sod off, Marcus… if he'd really accosted me in my bed, I would have broken something over his head, concussion or no…"

"HOW DARE YOU IMPLY THAT MY SISTER IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?!? Wretched SOD!"

"WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU GOING ABOUT, FLINT?! I DID NOT IMPLY ANYTHING! AND BESIDES THAT, I DID NOT ACCOST HER IN HER BED!!"

"This is bullshit… I _honestly_ don't care, or want to know, whose is bigger…" Cass groaned, then raised her voice over the shouts of the two arguing men, "MARCUS! WOOD! SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP BOTH OF YOU! Marcus… since you've obviously nothing good to say, get out."

"Cass…" Marcus Flint turned to his sister, still scowling, "You… what the devil were you _thinking_ during that game… getting in the way of the bludger…"

"It's my game. I will play it as I see fit," her voice had all of the sudden gone deadly cold and calm, "Now… _get out_."

"What?! Cass… why do you have to be so difficult all the time? You never used to be like this… I'm just trying to watch out for you and everything, blimey…"

"Well… you just seemed to have answered your own question, didn't you? And don't you _DARE_ ever try to 'watch out' for me in that manner, ever, _ever_ again. I swear, if you do… it won't work. Not you, and not _anyone_, can tell me what and what not to do."

"Cass…"

"_GET OUT._"

Marcus Flint scratched his head and looked torn, frowning at his sister's mutinous face in worry and exasperation, "All right, Cass... I won't yell at the git over there for the time being... I'm just _worried_ about you, is all. You _know_ how dangerous you play..."

"Yes," Cass said stonily, "I do know. Marcus Flint, in case I have not made this absolutely _crystal_ clear the last three-hundred and twenty-seven times that I've told you, _it is MY CHOICE_. I am well aware of what I'm doing... and I'm a grown woman now. Stop treating me like I'm a bloody twelve-year-old when I'm twice that age! You can't stop me, no matter how hard you try. And if you _do_ keep on trying, I will be forced to hate you for the rest of both our lives." Both Flint siblings seemed to have forgotten about Oliver Wood, as they glared at each other half-heartedly, the brother's square-jawed, tanned face full of frustration, the sister's slightly paler and more fine-boned but no less stubborn face full of a weary bitterness. Finally, Cass spoke again, "Now, Marcus... just... go. Give Karen and little Katherine my greetings. Just... go."

"Cass..."

"Leave. _Now._"

Giving a growl, Marcus Flint turned on his heel and strode out of the room. 

"Err..." Oliver Wood broke the uncomfortable silence in the room, and looked at Cass awkwardly. She had lain back down on her bed, and had pulled the blankets up to her chin. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and she seemed a million miles away. "Umm... what was that all about?"

"Sod off... you don't understand," she muttered, not turning to look at him.

Where had he heard those words before? Oliver frowned slightly... Warrington. The Chaser had sobered up, most surprisingly, when he'd mentioned Cass Flint and her peevish behavior, and Warrington had remarked, "You don't really understand... but then, that's only to be expected."

Just what was it that he didn't understand, anyway? For some odd reason, his supposed lack of understanding irked him greatly.

*~*~*~*

REVIEW!


	5. Presents and Pasts

**NOTES:**

There are visitors. And there are talks. And the Great Kilted One finds out certain things.

**DEDICATION:**

Dedicated to Kait, who plays the Great Kilted One in my rpg… w00t for all fun discussions of Quidditch and Quidditch players! 

**DISCLAIMER:**

I don't own Harry Potter. But I _DO_ own a large amount of sharp, pointy objects. Don't sue.

*~*~*~*

Two mornings later, Oliver Wood awoke to the sound of conversation.

"They haven't killed each other yet?" an incredulous male voice sniggered.

"No… give them time. Be patient, my pet…" a sweetly sarcastic female voice answered him. Oliver grunted, and rubbed his eyes. Standing a few feet away from his bed, his arms crossed, and smirking true to form, was Carl Warrington. And by Warrington's side, there was a tallish, limber female with dark hair whom Oliver recognized as Skyler Zabini, one of the Harpies' Beaters. Behind the two, Oliver saw a veritable gang of Quidditch players both male and female. 

"Good morning, Oliver," Harry Potter greeted him cordially. Oliver gave Harry a slight smile.

"Morning, all," Oliver stretched slightly and sat up in bed. Both the Puddlemere and the Harpies teams were gathered in the room. Oliver grinned, "None of you got asked for autographs on the way here?"

"Oh, of course we did. And poor Cho over here got proposed to by some random bloke who'd watched the Harpies/Falcons game," Angelina Johnson-Weasley shook her head. Cho Chang, peering from behind the taller Chaser, rolled her eyes slightly.

"I'm _engaged_... they _shouldn't_ do such things."

"Oh, but you're just so _irresistible _that they can't help themselves," Skyler Zabini grinned at her captain, "Smart, athletic, pretty... have to beat the blokes off with a ten-foot broomstick, hmm? _This_ should go over well with Roger..."

"Oh dear lord, I don't even want to contemplate that..." Cho shook her head, "That last time that fellow tried to proposition me at the Leaky Cauldron, Roger threw a fit of gargantuan proportions and nearly hexed him from head to foot..."

"Awww, such a protective fiancé," Sarah Fawcett chuckled, "But you _know_ he's always been like that."

"Yes, I know," Cho smiled wryly. Roger was, of course, Roger Davies, who had been Quidditch captain of Ravenclaw House back in the day when they'd all still been in school. He had been a fairly good friend of Cho's, and had been markedly, almost ridiculously protective of her after her Quidditch-related injuries her first time as Seeker, and after he'd gotten out of school, he had joined the Aurors' Guild. Two years later, Cho had followed. Now, Cho was playing Quidditch, while he was working for the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. The two were set to marry sometime within the next year.

"We should probably wake Cass up," Alice Brocklehurst spoke. Many eye-rolls greeted this declaration.

"She's _not_ a morning person," Skyler said flatly, "Will someone please have on hand something caffeinated to inject into her veins when necessary? And hopefully a shield..."

"Eh... I think I've an idea," Warrington smirked at Skyler, then walked up to the lump in the bed that was Cass. Poking her blanket-covered shoulder with a finger, he called out, "Oi, Flint! Catch this reverse pass!"

Then, he jumped back as Cass sat bolt upright, her eyes wide, "What? Where?"

"Splendid! You're awake," Warrington said jovially. Skyler laughed.

"That worked nicely... we'll have to keep this one in mind in the future, hmm?"

Cass glared for a moment, then grinned when she saw her teammates, "Hello everyone."

Various salutations greeted her, and Skyler stepped forward, handing her a basket. "Presents, from all of us. Until you feel better, at any rate."

Cass eagerly dug into the basket, and came up with numerous books on Quidditch, along with a slate on which to scribble and plot down game maneuvers. "That's spiffing of you to do this, girls. Thanks."

"Of course, we brought _you_ presents as well," Warrington cleared his throat and addressed Oliver Wood. The latter raised an eyebrow.

"I would say thank you... but I don't like that look on your face."

Warrington laughed, and exchanged glances with the rest of the Puddlemere team, and then, mouth twitching, took a basket from the hands of Seamus Finnegan, and handed it to Oliver with mock-courtesy.

A ridiculously pink teddy bear in a white Quidditch uniform and several singing get-well cards later, Oliver dubiously thanked his teammates for their... consideration... all the while gazing at the Quidditch books on Cass Flint's nightstand with the eyes of a starving man looking at a feast.

Skyler, catching these longing glances, shook her head at the Puddlemere team, "That's mean... you know that he's going to make all of you do bludger drills now."

"They can share," Warrington said comfortably, "I'm sure that Wood is willing to let Cass borrow Fluffy now and then if she's willing to let him borrow her books."

"I don't _want_ Fluffy," Cass's face, buried behind one of the books, snapped, "Fluffy and Slytherin don't mix."

"True... but it would look so _cute_," Warrington sniggered, "Little Cassie Flint, with her teddy bear..."

"Carl Warrington, just because I'm stuck in this horrid bed doesn't mean that I can't and won't kick your arse. Shut up or die."

"Temper, temper," Warrington smirked, "You should not be so easily aggravated. Bad for your blood pressure, you know."

"Well... what do you know?" Oliver rolled his eyes, "When he's not annoying _me_, he goes and annoys other people."

"Please don't tell me that this _surprises_ you somehow," Skyler Zabini chortled, "I barely know the bloke, and even I can see that that's like his pet hobby."

"Not _surprised_ so much as... well... amazed that he's not gotten any death threats yet," Oliver muttered.

"Now, you don't know that," Warrington said smugly, "Death threats are certificates of honor, and I have to have a _reason_ to be so confident, hmm?"

"You're sick and wrong."

"Thank you for the lovely sentiments."

"You're not very welcome," Oliver grumbled. "And all of you had better have been practicing these past few days…"

"Oh, of course," Zachary Turpin said breezily, "I think that you've successfully inculcated into us the inability to function without flying for a set amount of time per day."

"Wonderful to hear that _something_ is going well. I'll be sure to have a long team practice when I get out of this place… the World Cup is coming up in a few months…"

Numerous groans met with this declaration, and Harry spoke up, "Oliver… perhaps you should rest a bit… after all, overly strenuous Quidditch activity is what put you in here in the first place…"

"Oh, I can handle it, I'm sure."

"You're daft…" Seamus Finnegan groaned, "You _do_ realize that, don't you?"

"I'm successful," Oliver said complacently.

"Well, I'm glad that Cho isn't _quite_ as fanatical as you are," Angelina addressed Oliver, "Close, but not _quite…_well, in the very least, she _usually_ doesn't terrify us…"

"There _was_ that time with the 'Every maneuver ever created, five times each'…" Skyler murmured. Cho blushed slightly, and Oliver smirked.

"I'll have to keep that one in mind."

"Check out that smirk," Angelina raised an eyebrow at her former captain, "I daresay that Cass has been Slytherinating you in these past few days, hmm?" Neither Oliver nor Cass made any comments, but Warrington walked over to the latter's bed and held out a hand to her.

"Congratulations, Cassandra Flint. Excellent job, my dear lady... your efforts are most admirable, and I appreciate you continuing the mission that I have started."

"Sod off," came from behind _Quaffle Queens: Famous Female Chasers of the Last 500 Years by Winifred Orson-Kent_, "I _told_ you that I would never have anything to do with any 'missions' of yours ever since that time I had to bail you out of trouble for trying to charm Filch's cat blue!"

"Ooh, _this_ I need to hear," Skyler snickered. 

Cass gave a brief, disgruntled retelling of the story, much to everyone's amusement. As she finished, Carl Warrington stood up and bowed to the assembled group, and Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"The hair isn't red... but are you sure that you're not related somehow to the Weasley twins?"

"Oh Heaven forbid..." both Carl Warrington and Angelina Johnson-Weasley blanched at that. 

Everyone laughed, and visiting hours passed pleasantly and divertingly.

***

After a day of relative silence between the tense factions, boredom set in. Sure, there were Quidditch books and such, but neither Cass nor Oliver were silent by nature, and _being_ silent went rather against their grain.

"So... why don't you and your brother get along?"

"I told you that it wasn't any of your business, and that you wouldn't understand," Cass replied, her voice slightly less venomous than before. Oliver frowned and turned her head to look at her.

"Maybe you shouldn't be so judgmental. You don't know me at all... there's no reason for you to believe and say that I 'wouldn't understand'."

"You're a bloke."

"Oh, well-spotted," Oliver replied, "But what precisely does that have to do with anything?"

"Do you even _know_ how many blokes think disparagingly of girls, especially on the Quidditch pitch?"

Oliver pursed his lip thoughtfully, "Well... that _does_ happen sometime... but that's not good. I mean, when I was in Hogwarts and captaining the Gryffindor team, my three Chasers were all girls. And they were damn good. Among the best ruddy Quidditch players in school."

"It's not fair, hmm?"

"What?"

"Oh, sure, Gryffindor girls get to try out for Quidditch whenever they bloody well wish. But _Slytherin_... do you know, Marcus changed the rules the year that Pucey quit the team and there was an open Chaser position. He _changed_ the rules so that no girls would be allowed to play on the team!"

"_WHAT?!_ Why?!"

And here, Cass gave a bitter sigh, "Because I was going to try out. He kicked Karen off the team, replaced her with Nott as Keeper, and Warrington got the Chaser position."

Oliver Wood was speechless. "But... why? I mean, sure, Flint... er, your brother, that is... can be sexist... but wouldn't he want to give you a chance if you were good? I mean, wouldn't that benefit his team?'

"That wasn't the point."

"That makes no sense though!"

"Look, Wood... you don't have the foggiest idea..." Cass glowered at him, her dark head turned to face him, "Marcus, he's somewhat of the belief that I shouldn't be out there killing myself on the Quidditch pitch."

"So, he's being protective. All the stuff about girls not playing Quidditch for Slytherin was him being protective..." Somehow, this was rather hard to believe. From what Oliver knew of Marcus Flint, the man didn't seem capable of any such caring sentiments.

"Overbearing is more like it," Cass said bitterly, "Him and my parents... nooo, Cassandra should not do something so dangerous and unladylike as to play that sport. How boorish, for a young woman to be cavorting about on a broomstick! It's utter bullshit!"

Oliver blinked and frowned slightly, "So they wanted you to be a _lady_..." The idea was somehow laughable. Just the image of her in pastel dress robes serving tea.... was incongruous. He blurted the first thing that came to his mind at that farcical mental picture, "That's absurd. That's not you."

"I'd take offense at your presumption for thinking that you 'know' me or something," Cass said tonelessly, "But that would be going off on a tangent. They had no _right_ to decide what was best for me! And to limit me in that way!" Her voice became sarcastically resentful, "Oh sure, _Marcus_ can arse about on a broomstick and take bludgers to the head and be as 'uncouth' as he pleases, but _I_ have to stay at home and sit and look pretty! What sort of nonsense is _that?!_ Honestly..."

Oliver nodded silently, "Rotten of them. Er... how did you practice and such, then?"

"Oh, _that_... Well, Warrington was in my year. We were always friends... he felt bad when he got accepted into the new Chaser position and they didn't even give me a chance. So he'd risk Marcus' wrath and let me borrow his broomstick to fly. And we'd discuss Quidditch strategy together time to time. Well... it was like that. After Marcus came up with that rule and such... him, Karen and I sometimes went to play each other... we'd borrow Quidditch equipment and broomsticks from the broom shed, and that way, Karen and I both got extra practice in. And so, that's how both of us made it into Professionals. So, believe it or not, Warrington, the swarthy git... I'm actually somewhat indebted to him."

"I was wondering why it seemed that you knew him so well and you'd never killed him yet," Oliver muttered. And for the first time, Cass gave him an impish grin.

"Oh, the temptation has arisen more than once, let me assure you," she smirked, "I truly feel sorry for you, having to put up with him on such a regular basis."

"I feel sorry for myself," Oliver grumbled. "Smarmy bastard... but... I still think it's bizarre that they did that to you. I mean, playing Quidditch doesn't mean that a girl becomes a savage... it just doesn't compute, their supposed reasoning. Although I guess that they could have been trying to prevent you from getting hurt..."

"Is it any _business_ of them to do that? Isn't it my choice?" Cass snapped at him.

Oliver shrugged, "I guess so... I mean, what you do with your life is... up to you. Although you have to admit, you do take rather insane risks, I've noticed.... not that that's a bad thing, by any means..."

"Of course it's not! I mean, look at that game, Appleby Arrows against the Montrose Magpies, 1843, when the Seeker did that dangerous Feint..." 

And so, the conversation shifted to other, slightly less sensitive things. And the venom in their exchanges had decreased slightly from before.

*~*~*~*

REVIEW!


	6. Release and Invitation

**NOTES:**

            And finally, the poor dear souls are released from the hospital. 

**DEDICATION:**

            To Kate, my awesome plot bunny tossing partner and fellow SOBette. ::glomp::

**DISCLAIMER:**

            If you actually spend your time reading these things rather than the fic itself… that's _really_ rather pathetic. 

*~*~*~*

            "_What the devil were you thinking, Cass?_" 

            It was hours since she'd told Oliver Wood the story of her, Marcus, Warrington, and the modified rules regarding Slytherin Quidditch. 

            And all these hours, she'd spent berating herself for telling him these things.

            As if he had any right to know. She barely knew him. What the hell had possessed her to be so indiscreet?

            God… he'd probably _pity_ her now. 

            She glanced over surreptitiously at him. It was still quite early in the morning, and he was fast asleep, mouth open, softly crooning Quidditch statistics.

            "_And Glynnis Griffiths, after seven days of Seeking, finally catches the snitch, bringing the Holyhead Harpies to victory against the Heidelberg Harriers…_ " Oliver muttered in his sleep, then grunted and rolled over. Cass shook her head and smiled a bitter, wry sort of smile.

            Yes… a Quidditch fanatic, if there ever was one. 

            Did he understand?

            What in the world had made her tell him? He certainly wouldn't have had more than a mere passing interest in it. After all, he barely knew her, thought she was a bint, and more, he was a _Gryffindor_. It wasn't like he _knew_ anything of what her life was like. 

            And… with her luck, he'd probably be all presumptuous and pitying now. The poor ickle Flint girl, unable to play Quidditch because her brother was a domineering prat.

            And if there was a single thing that she detested even more than being thought little of… it was being pitied.

            She would _show_ him that she was not to be pitied. She would have to.

*          *          *

            Oliver Wood had no bloody idea what had happened. The night before, they were actually getting along. Well, by their standards, anyway. They were having an entirely civil conversation… and finally, it seemed as though the girl had something human inside the irascible shell. She had shown him, more or less, that there was a method behind her apparent madness and antisocial man-hating tendencies.

            But then, in the morning, she was back to her cantankerous self. Except it was even worse than before.

            He had no idea what the devil was the matter with her. He had barely greeted her good morning when she had scowled at him and told him to sod off and leave her alone.

            Crazy woman, that one.

            He had tried to talk to her. After all, he was bored, and neither of them would be released quite yet. 

            "Oi, Flint, how's that book?" he has asked, glancing at her as she read _The History of the Hawkshead Attacking Formation by Jarvis Barton_. 

            "Sod off, I don't want to talk to you," she had snapped at him, her face buried behind the book.

            "Blimey, what's the matter with you today?"

            "I _SAID_... I don't want to talk to you! I'm not in the mood for socializing!"

            Oliver had rolled his eyes, "Since when are you _ever_ in the mood for socializing?"

            "What part of '_SOD OFF'_ do you not understand?" she had shrieked at him, throwing the nearest object, which happened to be a roll of gauze, over her shoulder at him. He ducked, and it landed on the floor a few feet away from his bed.

            "Barking mad..." he'd muttered, and the rest of the day had passed in sulky silence on both their parts.

*          *          *

            The next morning, the same thick-skinned nurse had bustled in, and informed then that both of them were free to go. She had pulled a curtain across in between their beds, and the two of them had changed out of their hospital wear. 

            Cass, dressed in blue Muggle jeans and a black leather jacket, had shrunk her books and things and crammed them into her purse. And then, as Oliver, who was still packing, watched, she had stalked out of the room, head high, shoulders back, without a second glance.

            He'd rolled his eyes as he transfigured the ridiculous pink teddy bear into a somewhat respectable-looking duffel bag, and then, he, too, had walked out of the hospital room to Apparate home. And he'd decided that he had washed his hands of Cassandra Flint.

            Good riddance. Right.

*          *          *

            "Cass, you're back!" Alice Brocklehurst stepped out onto the pitch, seeing her friend up in the air, doing laps on her broomstick. Cass paused, and flew down towards the ground, where the blonde Beater stood, smiling.

            "Hullo, Alice."

            "How're you feeling?" Alice asked her genially, "It's been rather unusual, practicing without you these past few days. I daresay that even though you've only been with us a season, we've quite gotten used to your presence."

            "I'm fine," Cass landed in front of Alice and dismounted, "Nice to know that I've been missed."

            "Oh, you have no _idea_ how much you've been missed," Alice said wryly, "These few days, we've had a constant visitor to the pitch. Despite the fact that he's not _supposed_ to be here at all during practices and such. Keeps on asking about you."

            "Oh God... please tell me it's not Marcus," Cass groaned. Alice chuckled and shook her head.

            "No... no," the Beater said gently, "I daresay his interest in you is... not familial at all in nature."

            "Who is it, then?" Cass asked, frowning slightly.

            "Edmund Baddock," Alice answered calmly, "Terence knows him, says that he was in the same year as you and him. Tall, medium brown hair, kind of brooding-looking. Terence said that he was something of a loner in school... I wouldn't really know, of course. But there you have it. I think he wants to take you out sometime."

            "I see." Cass rolled her eyes, "Yes. I know him. His family is friends with mine. I've known him for _quite_ some time."

            "Is he nice?"

            "Alice, my dear, you are talking about a _Slytherin_. _Please_ don't ask something like that," Cass smirked. Alice shrugged, wholly unconcerned.

            "Terence is a Slytherin, and he's quite nice. To me, at least."

            "You're his girlfriend. He can make exceptions in rare incidences like that," Cass said dismissively. "If a Slytherin is '_nice'_ to someone, there's either an ulterior motive, or the person is just incredibly special. Well... I suppose that in your case, it could be both, with the ulterior motive being his desire for shagging..."

            Alice's pretty face flushed the color of coral, and she swatted her teammate on the arm, "Well... be that as it may, Terence is good to me. But we aren't talking about me. We're talking about your apparent admirer Edmund Baddock. Perhaps you should talk to him sometime?"

            "Yes... yes, I will go do that tonight," Cass said, rolling her eyes slightly, "Now, practice with me? Do you know how many days of inactivity I have to make up?"

            Alice laughed and grabbed her own broom, "Yes... but don't take it out on _me_. I will practice with you for an hour, hmm? Then you go home and deal with the Baddock situation."

            "All right, mother," Cass said sarcastically, and then, the two women took to the air, and all was forgotten except the game that they both loved.

*          *          *

            After Apparating back to her flat, Cass flopped down on the couch, a grilled chicken sandwich in one hand, a glass of iced pumpkin juice in the other. Blimey, but it was nice to be home again! No more tasteless mushy slop that the hospital had the audacity to call food, no more lying in bed bored out of her mind all day. No more Oliver Wood...... well, okay. So the latter wasn't always _that_ bad. But still! As part of the general ordeal of the hospital stay, he would have to be included as something she was happy to leave behind. That might be slightly unfair... but at the moment, she didn't care. Really.

            Her thoughts were interrupted when her fireplace flared to life. Setting her food down, she watched as the green flames parted to reveal the face of Edmund Baddock.

            Baddock had been in her house and year, one of the boys, along with Carl Warrington, Edward Montague, and Terence Higgs. But where the latter three had been rather close amongst themselves, sharing a common love of Quidditch, Edmund Baddock had been a loner. Somewhat sullen of disposition, although generally polite, he had always struck her as something of a bore. Certainly, he could be a gentleman when the occasion called for it, and his family was old, wealthy and impeccably well bred and well versed in all Wizarding ways. Like the Flint family, they likely had certain expectations for females.

            So what the devil was Edmund Baddock after? 

            "Evening," she greeted him coolly, one eyebrow raised.

            "It's great to see you again, Cassandra, you're looking lovely." Edmund smiled at her. Cass gave him a quizzical look.

            "It's Cass, and thank you for the compliment. What can I do for you?"

            "I just wanted to make sure that you've recovered from that _terrible_ injury on the Quidditch pitch, Cassandra." Edmund drawled in a honey-smooth voice.

            Cass sighed, "It's _Cass_, and I'm fine. It was just a bludger to the head. They caught me before I hit the ground, and I didn't break any bones. Don't worry about me."

            "If you say so," Edmund Baddock looked dubiously at her, quite clearly thinking that bludgers to the head were very serious affairs. To be prevented at all costs. Up to and including never getting involved with anything that might give one the chance of coming near bludgers. "It must be _terrible_ to suffer something like that for a mere job…"

            "It's not," Cass said tonelessly, "And I love my job. It's not my job; it's my life. I don't think you quite understand, Edmund."

            "Perhaps that is the case," Edmund Baddock shrugged dismissively, "Well… anyway, I was wondering if you would honor me with your presence tomorrow night, I've booked a reservation at a French restaurant in Diagon Alley."

            "You… booked a reservation already," Cass said rather flatly. He nodded complacently. She _hated_ when this happened. _Hated_ it. Making a mental note to detach her flat from his residence in the floo network, she sighed.

            "Fine. What time?"

            "I will pick you up at seven o'clock tomorrow evening. Formal robes, of course," he cast another dubious glance upon her worn jeans, and then, his head disappeared, and the fireplace died down.

            Cass almost wished that she were back in the hospital.

*~*~*~*

SORRY the chapter is somewhat short… the next will be longer, I swear! Review anyway!


	7. Date Disaster

**NOTES:**

            Poor Cass has the date from hell. But don't pity her. She might kill you if you do.

**DEDICATION:**

            To the darling Kala, who is the 133t co-mod of DOOM!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            ::clears throat:: moving onward…

*~*~*~*

            "Well, you're looking dressy today, dear," the mirror in Cass's room spoke in a curious voice. Cass grimaced.

            "Oh, but you should smile… you would look so much prettier if you smiled."

            "I don't _want _to look pretty," Cass snarled and surveyed her reflection with a glare. "And I look like a bloody miserable prissy snit in a frilly nightmare."

            She was brushing out her hair and preparing for the evening with Edmund Baddock. Digging through the piles of casual clothing in her closet, she had come up with some dark green dress robes with sheer sleeves and a matching fur-lined cloak. Oh, sure, the things were quite nice… but it wasn't her. 

            Firing a few perfunctory ironing charms at the robes, she had shrugged them on, and looked at herself in the mirror again.

            Sure, with nice clothes and all dolled up like this, she could almost pass for beautiful… but for the fact that it looked oddly amiss on her. No, this was not her thing at all. 

            She was not bad-looking. Her face had strong lines, a stubborn chin, high cheekbones, a straight nose. Deep-set dark eyes. Dark hair, kept fairly simple for the sport she loved. She had no illusions about how she looked. Unlike Cho, or Alice, or even Skyler when the latter felt so inclined, she was not feminine or pretty. She did not want to be pretty. 

            And dressing up like some little porcelain doll was… not her.

            She thought she looked hideous in this ridiculous get-up.

            A sharp, imperious and insistent rapping on her door, and Cass rolled her eyes. Picking up her wand and putting it in her pocket along with a small wallet, she stalked over to the door and opened it. 

            "Ah, there you are, Cassandra," Edmund Baddock was impeccably dressed in black dress robes, and gave her a slow once-over with his eyes. "You look pretty like that… you should dress up more often."

            "I do _not_. And I won't dress up more often," Cass muttered under her breath, and at that moment, Edmund gave a rather sharp inhalation, and his eyebrows lifted to his hairline.

            "Oh _dear_… what _is_ that… _unsightly blemish_ on your shoulder?" His hand shot out pressed down on her shoulder, shifting the sheer sleeve of her dress robe. Cass glared at him and pulled away. He looked at her, detached disapproval evident in his eyes.

            "It's a tattoo. A dragon. A Common Welsh Green. I have had it since I was fifteen. Do you have a problem with that?" she harshed out. 

            He sniffed slightly, "I suppose that it can be overlooked right now."

            Cass almost wished that he _didn't_ overlook it, cancelled this inane date, and left her alone.

            As it was, she rolled her eyes and followed him silently out of her flat. 

*          *          *

            The restaurant was called La Reine du Neige. The Queen of Ice. Exclusive, cold, snobby and pretentious. Quite fitting, really. Edmund took her by the arm and led her to a private booth. 

A wood nymph, her wild, flowing hair twined with ivy, sauntered up to the table, and asked what they wanted to have for dinner. Edmund, his eyes focused on the dryad's full bosom for much longer than was completely necessary, cleared his throat and ordered escargot and magrets de canard for both of them. 

Cass decided that she hated men who ordered for her.

She listened with half an ear as Edmund droned on and on about his job at the Ministry, working for the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal, and wished that she were elsewhere, anywhere…

"… and so, I _do_ think that Muggle Repellent Charms should be used on _all_ Wizarding establishments… after all, it would be horrid if our kind and Muggles had to deal with each other on a daily basis, when obviously neither of them are interested, or could possibly comprehend each other. When I get my next promotion, that will certainly be the _first_ new regulation in effect…"

            "That's nice," Cass snapped, picking at her food. She hated snails. And she hated duck. And she wanted to transfigure the bloody arse across from her _into_ a snail or a duck. Or better yet, transfigure him into a snail and _feed_ him to a duck.

            "Of course it is… I just _knew_ you would agree…"

            _Must… not… throw… champagne… flute… at… him… bad… bad…Quidditch... Cass... think about Quidditch... A horizontal pass is most effective when..._

            She tuned it all out. Obviously, Edmund Baddock, self-absorbed pillock that he was, didn't expect much input from her beyond the occasional nod of assent or blank smile. She mentally memorised _Quidditch Through The Ages_ and went over the history of the sport from its creation to the modern day, taking an occasional sip of her champagne.

            She was just reciting Quidditch stats from the infamous Holyhead Harpies and Heidelberg Harriers game under her breath when she noticed that Edmund Baddock was giving her an expectant look. "I beg your pardon?"

            "Cassandra," his voice was disapproving, and frankly grating on her nerves by that point, "I was wondering if you would like to go somewhere else? We are done here."

            "Oh... yes, let's leave," Cass stood up abruptly. Thank the bloody sodding _Heavens_. It was over. "Yes, I should be going home... I have practice early in the morning and..."

            "Oh, but it is still early... you shouldn't go _home_ yet..." Edmund drawled as he helped her into her cloak and steered her towards the door, "I was just thinking that perhaps... you might want to go somewhere more _personal_... the crowds here can be somewhat... intrusive."

            Crowds? _What_ crowds? The thrice-damned place was probably the most superciliously-run, exclusive establishment in Diagon Alley! Cass's eyes were snapping savagely as he steered her out of the restaurant. Oh, where were mad, scary mobs of Quidditch fans when you needed them? They would have frightened him away, if nothing else.

            "You _do_ look beautiful this evening, Cassandra," he asserted languidly. Oh, _again_ with the bloody Cassandras! She was _CASS_, not _Cassandra_... he did not notice her hands clenched into fists at her sides, as she walked stiffly next to him.

            "Thank you, you're too kind," she hissed.

            "Oh, no... you look _quite_ the attractive young woman when you're cleaned up properly like today. Much better than the coarse, grubby garb that you usually wear. You really _should_ wear something like this more often." Edmund looked at her from head to toe once again, and she crossed her arms, eyes narrow and fierce. Not that he noticed. "Oh! _I_ know! I should contact Gladrags, and have them send you a new wardrobe of dress robes. You can be beautiful all the time if you tried harder. Consider it a present, hmm?"

            Cass seethed inwardly, "I'm afraid I cannot accept you _generous_ offer," she ground out between clenched teeth, her voice dripping with cold sarcasm.

            "Oh, think nothing of it... I can certainly _afford_ it..." Edmund Baddock smiled at his own munificence and bounteousness, and looked at her again, his hand on her arm now a controlling, possessive grip, "Well, it is of course, my astonishingly good luck, that you are mine for tonight."

            "I'm _not_ yours, Edmund, whatever gave you _that_ idea? You make it sound like I'm some cheap, trashy bit of muslin you pick up at a whorehouse!" Cass retorted, "And I don't _want_ new bloody dress robes!"

            Edmund Baddock looked frankly shocked and astonished at her bad temper, "Well, Cassandra... it would do you a world of good. I'm sure that you understand the necessity for women to be... well, more ornamental than you have a tendency for achieving..."

            "_What in Merlin's name do you think I AM?! A bloody porcelain doll?!_" Cass snarled, "_I will dress exactly the way I damn well please to, and it's none of your BUSINESS! Who do you think you are?!_"

            And Edmund Baddock, finally, scowled at her, his civility collapsing like rotten wood under a varnished veneer, "You had best watch your mouth, Cassandra. And remember who you are speaking to."

            "Oh, I remember. I'm speaking to a bloody chauvinistic bastard who is the world's biggest patronizing wanker, who seems to want me to become some sort of mantelpiece ornament for him. Well guess what, Edmund Baddock... it doesn't fucking _work_ that way! How _dare_ you presume to try to control my life? What _right_ do you have?!"

            His hands gripped her wrists like steel manacles, and he glared at her. "You're just a little girl who doesn't know what she's doing with her life, Cassandra. I think that it's time that someone taught you what is your place in this world..." he pushed forward, making as if to kiss her.

            Eyes blazing in fury, Cass yanked one of her hands out of his inexorable grip, wincing slightly at the soreness in her wrist, and caught his jaw sharply with her fist. Then, as he stumbled back, recoiling in pain and swearing, she whipped out her wand with her freed hand and yelled out "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

            He froze, stiff as a board, and fell to the ground heavily and ungracefully. Cass gave his flattened form one last icy glare, and stormed off to the Leaky Cauldron.

            "Three glasses of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey," she said to Tom as soon as she'd sat down. The old man gave her a questioning look, but when she gave him a quelling, defiant stare, he went and fetched her drinks in silence.

            It was not a good thing to drink on an almost-empty stomach. Cass knew this, of course. It was not a good thing to be drinking Firewhiskey anyway. Not for an athlete. Alcohol of that potency was very bad to put in one's system.

            And she was not very bulky at all. Only slightly over medium height, slim and wiry, certainly no giant by any stretch of the imagination, alcohol was very easily absorbed into her system. A few drinks would be all it took to make her entirely sloshed for the rest of the evening. 

            Cass knew all this, of course.

            And perhaps, had she not been in such high dudgeon, she would have reconsidered.

            But as it was, with a reckless, furious sort of defiance, she downed the tall glasses of Firewhiskey, one after another, seething internally just the same way that the whiskey burned a trail down her throat into her practically empty stomach. Normally, she would have been approached for autographs, photos, or questions by other patrons in such a popular establishment, but somehow, it seemed that the others sensed that she was under duress. In any case, the other people in the pub gave her a wide berth and left her to her drinks and her rage in solitude, with only the occasional wary glance sent in her direction.

            The door to the Leaky Cauldron opened, and a tall, stalwart form walked in. She looked at him with bleary eyes, but he seemed foggy and swam in her vision. He looked familiar somehow. But for the life of her, she had no idea who he was.

            She should go home and sleep. Really... she felt awfully tired. And her head was starting to hurt. And the room was spinning, the voices and words of the people tumbling and drowning and bleeding into each other. She would sleep. And maybe everything would go away in the morning.

            Wearily, she set her head down on the table.

            And the footsteps came closer. And someone shook her. "Go 'way... lea-me-lone..." she slurred.

            Oliver Wood, after a grueling day of Quidditch practice, had decided that a drink at the Leaky Cauldron would be just the thing. After Apparating to the pub, he had just been about to greet Tom, when his eyes had landed on a familiar but peculiar-looking form sitting alone. Cass Flint. Sister of Marcus. Crazy antisocial Harpies Chaser. The girl who had been with him in the hospital. She was all dressed up in fancy attire... but she was alone. And she was in the middle of drinking herself into oblivion.

            Deciding that his drink would have to take a rain check, he had walked over to see what was the matter with her.

            And realized that she was utterly and completely smashed. The three glasses... empty glasses, at that, of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey on the table, showed what had happened.

            "Oi, Flint... wake up!"

            "Head... hurts... Baddock... bastard..." she moaned, burying her face in her arms on the tabletop, "Room... spin."

            "You can't stay here... where do you live? I should probably call the Knight Bus and have them take you home."

            "Live... home..."

            "Yes... yes, I know," Oliver said patiently, "Where would that be?"

            She shook her head numbly, her hair a dark, tangled, shiny mass on the top of her green-clad, muscular arms. Oliver sighed.

            "Look, I'm going to take you out of here. This is ridiculous... a Quidditch player, getting smashed like this in the middle of the season..."

            "Edmund Baddock... bloody wanker... sodding..." she murmured, her voice muffled and forlorn. Oliver raised an eyebrow.

            "Yes, I'm sure he's an arse... but he's not worth you getting drunk over, hmm?" Whoever this Baddock character was... he _must_ be a prat. Oliver decided that he hated the git. Even though he had no idea who it was. But just to... to make a fellow Quidditch player put herself in such a state... Yes. That was it.

            "Horrible... evening..." Cass slurred. Oliver grimaced.

            "All right... I don't think you can Apparate home, hmm? And as I have no idea where you live, I shall have to take you to my flat... bloody terrific..." he sighed, and put an arm around her shoulders, half leading, half carrying her out of the pub after laying a handful of coins on the table, "Flint, you really owe me one."

*~*~*~*

Okay... okay! That's Chapter 7! More to come soon, and leave me a review!


	8. In Vino Veritas

**NOTES:**

            In the last chapter, we had Cass getting trashed. Now... to conclude _that_ interesting little episode...

**DEDICATION:**

            A shout-out to Morrigun, my dear fellow SOBette... happy birthday to you!!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            I won't relinquish my death-grip on Warrington just _yet_. Be patient. Be _very_ patient.

*~*~*~*

            By the time that Oliver had arrived at his flat with the drunk young woman in his arms, Cass was holding her hands over her mouth, the blanched look on her pale face telling him that she was feeling very sick indeed.

            Sighing, he'd conjured up a basin, and awkwardly supported her upper body with one hand, the other holding back her hair that was coming down from the bun at the top of her head, as she threw up. And then, he had plopped her down on a nearby chair, and gone to dispose of the basin, as well as get her a glass of water.

            He'd come back to find her curled up in a little ball on the chair, wrinkling the fine, obviously expensive dress robes that she wore, crying like a child.

            "Er... Flint? Here, drink some water... you're going to be dehydrated," he said uncomfortably. He bent over, lifting her head with one hand, putting the glass of water to her lips with the other.

            "It's _Cass_..." her voice was doleful, like that of a disappointed child, "I'm _Cass_... don't call me Cassandra, and don't call me Flint... I'm _Cass_..."

            "All right, then. Cass... drink some water," Oliver looked at her questioningly, nudging her lips with the rim of the glass. She parted her lips, and he tilted the glass so that she could take a sip. One sip, two sips, three... Cass drank about half a glass, then shook her head. He set the glass down on the coffee table, and blinked in surprise as her tears started again.

            "Ah... what's the matter with you, Cass?"

            "Sad... mad..."

            "Er... sorry to hear. Who at? And what happened?"

            She shook her head, and cried silently, "Hate... dressy robes... hate... fancy dinners... hate....." One hand went to the sleeve of her robe, making as if to tear it off. Oliver blinked.

            "Er... here, how about I get you something more comfortable to wear? Umm..." He walked quickly to his bedroom, and emerged a moment later with an old set of Quidditch robes. Red and gold. His Gryffindor uniform. The first thing that he'd gotten his hands on. He held them out to her rather tentatively, reflecting that perhaps giving a _Slytherin_ a set of _Gryffindor_ robes might not be the best of ideas, but she smiled blearily and ingenuously at him, and snatched the robes.

            "Pretty!"

            "Yes... yes. Very pretty. Red and gold. Prettiest colors there are, eh?" Oliver grinned somewhat, "Here... er... the loo is that way. You can go and change into them in there." He helped her up and gently pushed her into the loo, shutting the door behind her.

            She emerged a little while later, the oversized robes buttoned askew and almost slipping off one shoulder, but decent. She tripped over the bottom hem of the robe and stumbled, and her eyes were still glassy with alcohol. Oliver stepped forward, and once again deposited her in a chair.

            "So... ah... what happened? Why were you in the Leaky Cauldron all dolled up and getting drunk out of your mind?"

            She pouted at that, and her head drooped forward, her messy hair falling to hide her face from view.

            "Er... you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, of course... I'm just wondering what you're doing here. You know... so when you wake up tomorrow morning with a hangover you don't start screaming that I kidnapped you or something..." Oliver said quickly.

            She looked at him, and her eyes swam with tears. _In Vino Veritas_. Without warning, she stumbled up from her chair and threw herself into his arms, like a little girl who wanted to be held and petted. Oliver's eyes widened, and blinking in surprise, he walked backwards until he was sitting on a couch, and set her down next to him, with her still clinging to his arm.

            Awkwardly, he patted her on the top of her head, and looked at her. "Er... so... tell me what happened."

            Between sighs and tears, she managed to recount a disjointed version of the night's events, with the boredom, the peremptory, patronizingly dictatorial behavior of Edmund Baddock, and how he had insulted and humiliated her, and concluded that no one loved her and that everyone wished her dead.

            "Ah... I think you're exaggerating it a little bit, Fl—er, Cass. I don't think that everyone wants you to die. And I'm sure that your family loves you."

            "But they _don't!_" she wailed, "They wan-me-to be a laaady... and I don-wanna-be one! And they don-wan-me to play Quidditch... and it makes me saaad..."

            "Yes, I'm sure... and they're miserable sods if they do that," Oliver said firmly and vehemently, "But that's still no reason for you to get drunk. I mean... you don't have to care what they think! Do whatever you want, I always say. And you _are_ doing what you want... you're playing for the Harpies, and a damn fine Chaser if I ever saw one. So you don't have to give a hippogriff's flying arse about what _they_ think. And you _know_ that! So no more getting drunk because of some arrogant bugger's stupidity, hmm?"

            She shrugged and shook her head numbly, and he sighed again.

            "Look, why don't you drink some more water, then go to bed? You're really sloshed... and you're probably in no state to think clearly. Here..." he put an arm around her shoulders, and led her towards his bedroom. Honestly, the things he did for people... although, to be sure... she _had_ had a rough evening. He'd make an exception.

            He opened the door to his bedroom, and led her to the bed. Gently, he pushed her down into a reclining position, with her head on the pillows, and was just about to pull the comforter over her body when she grabbed his hand with hers in a surprisingly strong grip, and pulled him down. He fell on top of her with an "Oof", and immediately rolled aside, startled.

            "Er, what're you doing, Cass?"

            In the dim light of the room, he saw her smile hazily at him, and she twined her arms around his waist, the soft, worn material of his old Quidditch robes against his shirt, her fingers rubbing lazy, irregular circles at the small of his back.

            "You're nice to me..." she giggled, and gave him a tight hug, snuggling against him and burrowing her head in the crook of his neck. The hair on the top of her head tickled his chin.

            "Cass... let go of me."

            She moved away slightly, but didn't relinquish her hold on him. Wrapping her fingers around handfuls of his shirt, she leaned her head back and pouted at him, her dark eyes liquid and wide.

            "Don't you like me?"

            "Er... I don't think you know what you're talking about," Oliver muttered, trying (and not succeeding) to disengage himself from her clutches.

            "You don't like me?" she wailed, sniffling slightly. He sighed, and patted her head again.

            "Oh, of course I like you. But you need to sleep. Stop this, and let go of me," he said hurriedly.

            "Am I not beautiful enough? I'm sorry I'm not pretty..." He stared.

            Since when did she care about being _pretty?_ And... she wasn't bad-looking. She'd looked elegant, almost like a lady, when he had found her at the Leaky Cauldron. Although, to be sure... she looked better and more in her element with her hair whipping behind her, zooming about on the Quidditch pitch on her broomstick. _Then_, she was really beautiful.

            "Oh, you're very beautiful," he said quickly, "But you should sleep. Really. You're acting daft... you're entirely sloshed. Go to sleep, Cass."

            "Give me a goodnight kiss," she ordered. Oliver scooted back, eyes wide. All right, _really_... enough of this. But with every inch he scooted backwards, she leaned forward, her hair falling forward to brush against the sides of his face, her eyes bright and glassy as they looked down onto his face. But only for a moment. She closed them a second later, and leaned down to kiss him. And at the last moment, he moved his face, and the kiss landed on the corner of his mouth rather than his lips.

            And then, she was still. Cautiously, eyes still wide after that extremely odd bout of behavior from her, he shifted so that he could look at her and see what was going on.

            She was fast asleep.

            Sighing heavily, he moved off the bed and covered her as best as he could with the comforter. Just in case, he transfigured a nearby cup into a basin and placed it by her bed, before snatching a blanket from his closet and walking out of the room to spend a restless night on the couch.

*          *          *

            Cass awoke the next morning with a splitting headache and an intense feeling of nausea. Noticing a basin by her bed, she bent her head over it and retched, praying for the nausea to clear so she could figure out what the hell was going on.

            After a few minutes of waiting for the room to stop spinning, she gingerly crawled out of the unfamiliar bed and stepped out of the room, trying to figure out where she was and how she had gotten there. And how in the bloody _hell_ she had managed to deck herself in Gryffindor Quidditch robes in the meantime.

            It was an unfamiliar flat. That was full to overflowing with Quidditch and Quidditch-related paraphernalia. She looked curiously at a small model of a broomstick on a shelf, and then her eyes fell on the couch.

            Lying curled in a fetal position and wrapped in a fuzzy red and gold blanket was… _Oliver Wood_?!

            She stepped back, her eyes wide… and her elbow collided with a bookshelf. And Oliver Wood's eyes snapped open.

            "Ah… good morning, you're awake…"

            She nodded mutely…

            And then, she remembered.

            Oh… bloody…

            He was looking at her rather uncomfortably. And she knew that he must have remembered.

            Oh _GOD_… what had she… she had practically tried to _seduce_ him last night! And… why?

            Oh… because he had taken care of her and not patronized her and treated her like she wanted to be treated and moreover she was drunk and upset and wanted companionship of a sort and…

            And she barely knew him. And what he must think of her now. And… she wouldn't _care_ about that… but…

            He awkwardly stepped past her and opened a door. And then, a moment later, emerged with the forest green dress robes that she had worn to that catastrophic date with Edmund Baddock.

            "Er… are you feeling all right now?"

            He had better _not_ get any ideas…… she might have been trashed off her rocker and drunker than a wheelbarrow last night… but no more.

            Putting on her best freezing scowl, she snatched the robes out of his hands and Disapparated out of the flat before he could bat an eye. Never mind the fact that she _knew_ that Disapparating with a hangover was very unpleasant and she would end up with a wrenching headache for the rest of the day…

            And Oliver Wood stood, rooted to the ground, staring at the spot where she had just stood a moment ago. 

            "Well… all right," he thought to himself, "Let's review…"

            First impression of girl: Damn good Chaser.

            Second impression of girl: Snarky, antisocial bint. 

            Third impression of girl: Snarky, antisocial bint.

            Fourth impression of girl: Witty, snarky, antisocial… not quite a bint, but pretty close. Good conversationalist on Quidditch. Argumentative.

            Fifth impression of girl: Odd. Estranged from family.

            Sixth impression of girl: Strange, curious. Close to teammates. Friends with… _Warrington_? Odd…

            Seventh impression of girl: Hampered by family. Strong, determined. Interesting.

            Eighth impression of girl: Snarky, antisocial bint.

            Ninth impression of girl: Sad, drunk, almost-elegant… forlorn, lonely, capable of very human feelings, lovely… _LOVELY?!_

            Tenth and final impression of girl to date: … He had no idea whatsoever.

*~*~*~*

And yes… now that they're successfully confuddled… more to come soon!


	9. News

**NOTES:**

            And sexual tension shall abound from now onward! And probably not just for this chapter! But sexual tension is our friend.

**DEDICATION:**

            This chapter is dedicated to Ravyn, Princess SOBette extraordinaire. Just because.

**DISCLAIMER:**

            If I actually _owned_ Oliver in a kilt, I would have better ways to spend my time than writing fanfiction.

*~*~*~*

            It was a very brooding, oddly behaving Captain who led the Puddlemere United team in practice that day. Sure, he was fanatic as always… so obviously, he wasn't dangerously, deliriously ill. And sure, he was doing all the same things that he'd always done. 

            But something was not right. 

            Either he was very, _very_ uncaffeinated, or someone or something had disturbed him to the point that he was almost snarkier than Warrington. No mean feat, indeed.

            And all of them had seen him drink his coffee that morning.

            "_FINNEGAN! What type of batting is THAT?!"_

            For the 38th time in two hours, Oliver Wood was sniping at one of his team. Seamus Finnegan rolled his eyes.

            "Wood, I was off by about two inches. Not that bad, really…"

            "Gaahhh! What are we going to do… World cup! World cup! I want as many of us to make it onto the All-star team as possible!"

            "But Oliver… the All-star team committee has already decided… they're posting it in tomorrow's _Daily Prophet_. And you know that. You were only talking about that yesterday…" Harry pointed out, giving Oliver a curious look, "Are you sure you're all right?"

            "Who'd you shag last night?" Warrington sniggered curiously, "Mind elsewhere, hmm?"

            Oliver suddenly snapped. "_NO ONE! NO ONE AT ALL! SOD OFF ALL OF YOU! I'M LEAVING!"_

            And as he Disapparated, the teammates glanced at the spot where he'd been a moment ago. Then, turned to look at each other.

            "Well, what do you know? His tolerance for Warrington has gone down to an all-time low." Harry remarked.

            "Nah… his mind is… _elsewhere_," Warrington said sagely. "I wasn't even _trying_ to annoy him today."

            "You don't _have_ to," Harry Potter said sarcastically to the Chaser, "It's a completely natural part of your personality." Warrington chortled and bowed.

            "Well... that was completely unlike him, though. Whatever could be wrong?" Kevin Entwhistle wondered aloud, "I mean... Wood, cutting a practice _short_ like this?"

            "I'll find out," Carl Warrington volunteered immediately, a smirk on his face.

            The others, as if having some sort of secret agreement, all turned and pinned him with quelling stares while shaking their heads firmly. He raised an eyebrow.

            "What?"

            "Wood might have been snippy today, but cutting a practice short and giving us a break is a _good_ thing," Zachary Turpin said, rolling his eyes, "We don't want to put him in Azkaban for attempted murder just _yet_."

            Warrington sniggered, "You're no fun, bunch of ruddy spoilsports..."

*          *          *

            The arrival of the _Daily Prophet_ the next day was greatly anticipated by all Quidditch players and Quidditch fans. As soon as his owl had landed on his windowsill, Oliver Wood practically snatched bird and paper in, and tore the later open.

            "... _All-Star Team of England... Chasers Steven Cornfoot (22, Falmouth Falcons), Cassandra Flint (24, Holyhead Harpies), Carl Warrington (24, Puddlemere United). Beaters Kevin Whitby (19, Montrose Magpies), Skyler Zabini (21, Holyhead Harpies). Seeker Harry Potter (22, Puddlemere United), Keeper and captain... OLIVER WOOD (26, Puddlemere United)_..." Oliver dropped the paper, eyes wide as saucers, then danced a quick, merry jig around his kitchen.

            He made it! He _MADE_ it!! He, and Harry, and... even Warrington the pillock... the others... hmm... Cornfoot was a fine, precise sort of Chaser, with a smooth, streamlined style of flying, and neat, even passes. His style reminded Oliver of Katie Bell's, back in the day. Whitby the Beater was known as "Whitby the Wonder"... the fellow, despite his young age, had a brutal frontal swing. Zabini was deceptively willowy-looking, but he'd noticed the bludger that she'd fired at Warrington during that game against the Harpies. She was probably the most accurate bludger-smacker in the past thirty years. And... there was Fl—Cass. 

            She was... a good Chaser.

            More than good. The most ruddy talented, daring and determined Chaser he'd seen in a long, long time.

            She was also snarky and harsh and fiery-tempered. And too wont to jumping to conclusions. And she carried her grudges against her family and punished anyone who spoke to her... for her family's hampering of her lifestyle and talents. And she was rude. And...

            And she was damned talented. And unafraid to be exactly who she wanted to be, and what she wanted to be, despite the overwhelming odds against her favor. And she was witty. Interesting conversationalist... a bit on the acerbic and biting side of humor... but still. Knew her Quidditch. Knew well-nigh every bloody thing there was to know about Quidditch. Loved Quidditch.

            And she was human.

            Perhaps only when drunk out of her mind... but nevertheless... she had feelings. Granted, she would probably rather swallow a flaming broomstick and a bludger at once rather than to show them... but nevertheless...

            She was a puzzle.

            And she made his life damned difficult. 

            And now, she was on his team, under him. They would all have to work together in the competition for the World Cup.

            _This_ would prove interesting...

Painful at times, probably. Infuriating, definitely. But interesting nevertheless.

*          *          *

            Cass Flint and Skyler Zabini had just walked into _The Fat Fwooper_ for a light luncheon when they were waved over to a table by a grinning Carl Warrington.

            "Hello, ladies," Warrington smirked at Cass, then gave Skyler a wide, cocky smile, "Did you read the news?"

            "Not yet," Skyler shook her head and answered for the two of them, "Is there something that we should know?"

            "Oh, of course not..." Warrington rolled his eyes and said dryly, "It's not a matter of any importance that you two both made it onto the All-star Team representing England in the World Cup..."

            The two women were all of the sudden very still. Cass's eyes widened, and she stumbled backwards for a moment. Skyler grabbed onto the nearest chair back for support. Warrington raised an eyebrow.

            "Well, well... don't faint on me now, you two... or if you _must_, please do it one at a time... even _I_ can't catch two swooning damsels in distress at one time."

            Cass rolled her eyes, "I'm not fainting, idiot... but _ARE YOU SERIOUS?!_"

            "No, I'm Carl Warrington. Look for yourself... and please, again, do _not_ faint..."

            "Hmm... alert the press!" Skyler chortled, bending over the newspaper in Warrington's hands eagerly, "You actually admitted to something you couldn't do!"

            "Oh _no_... how _could_ I? I suppose I will have to learn how to catch two fainting maidens now... so that I will be perfect and reach godhood."

            "You just keep thinking that," Skyler said indulgently, as her face spread in a huge grin, and she grabbed Cass in a quick hug. "_WE MADE IT!_"

            Cass hugged her teammate back, "Yes... there's us, Cornfoot from my brother's team, the git who we _were_ talking to a moment ago before we decided to ignore him, and there's Whitby from the Magpies to work with _you_, and Potter... and the Captain is... _Oliver Wood_?!"

            Warrington grinned hugely to himself, "Should be fun, shouldn't it?"

            Cass groaned, "Oh God _no_... _anyone_ but him... I can't face him... Merlin... no..." her voice trailed off, and she buried her head in her arms. 

            "What's the matter with him, Cass?" Skyler asked curiously, "Just because he's seen you in a hospital gown doesn't mean that he's necessarily a mad axe-murderer after your blood..."

            "No, no... oh unholy _Heavens_..."

            Warrington raised an eyebrow, then put on a ridiculously stern, serious expression, "Young Cass Flint, is there something that you have been keeping from our knowledge?"

            "Bugger off... blimey..." Cass's eyes were wide. Skyler Zabini and Carl Warrington exchanged a glance.

            "Cass, it's time for a few questions and answers," Skyler said calmly but firmly.

            "Indeed... have you been shagging Oliver Wood?" Warrington spoke up. Skyler swatted his arm.

            "Ignore him."

            "I know," Cass rolled her eyes, and Warrington put on a mock-affronted face. Skyler pointedly ignored all of this, and turned back to Cass.

            "So, why the shock and horror at finding that you will be working on the same team as Oliver Wood, Cass? I don't think he's going to try to sell you as a harem girl to the Sultan of Persia."

            Warrington guffawed, and Cass stared at Skyler's outlandish statement. The Beater shrugged, "My point being... certain oddities of personality aside, he seems a harmless sort. Why are you so worried?"

            "N-nothing..." Cass shook her head, "I'm just... surprised is all... Say, hadn't we better gather together sometime?"

            "Oh, of course. I think that everyone is to meet at the Puddlemere pitch at three this afternoon. Not for practice quite yet, but just to meet each other," Warrington told her.

            "Right." Cass nodded blankly. "I'll... be sure to be there."

*          *          *

            Three o'clock in the afternoon came all too soon. 

            She... didn't want to go. She didn't want to face him... ever _see_ him again after what had happened the night of her dreadful date with Edmund Baddock. But... oh, Fate must have been a Warrington. Both of them knew _just_ what people didn't want to have happen. And both had sadistic, evil senses of humor.

             But... she went. At three o'clock, she Apparated to the arranged meeting place, a bundle under one arm, her broomstick held in one hand. 

            Most of the players were there already. Harry Potter, Carl Warrington, Oliver Wood. Skyler was lounging on one of the bleachers next to Warrington, looking interestedly at the others. Kevin Whitby Apparated in a moment after she did.

            Cass grimaced slightly, and took a determined step forward. All right... to get the painful and humiliating part of this over and done with. And then to Apparate out of there as fast as humanly possible so as to not hear impertinent Warrington remarks and questions.

            She strode up to Oliver Wood, her jaw tight; her face carefully expressionless. She would _not_ blush. 

            Wordlessly, she handed the bundle under her arm to him.

            Oliver looked at her strangely, but took the bundle in silence, and... horror of horrors, decided to open it up _in front of the entire bloody team_.

            His Gryffindor robes.

            The ones that she'd changed into that night at his flat. When she had made an utter despicable fool of herself.

            He blushed a dull red, like a watered-down shade of the robes he held in his hands.

            Warrington smirked, "Say, Cass... why'd you have his robes? Heaven knows he treasures them..."

            Cass face-faulted, then deliberately let out a string of fluent and colorful profanities at Warrington's grinning face. And then, her face red as well, she left the pitch as quickly as she had come.

            Warrington raised an eyebrow and turned his probing eyes towards Oliver. "So, how _did _Cass get those robes?"

            "I refuse to discuss this," Oliver said stonily. Warrington sniggered.

            "I _see_..." he let the statement hang, obviously indicating that he would draw his own conclusions from it. Conclusions that, based on his mindset and way of thinking, were probably extremely and horrifically depraved.

            Skyler, next to him, shook her head. "Well... that's the start of a beautiful friendship, hmm? Practices should be... _interesting_..."

            "They'll be fun," Warrington smirked. "I look forward to them _greatly_."

            "You _would_."

            "Why, don't you?" he looked at her with a mock-ingenuous expression. She stared for a moment, then laughed.

            "Just a little."

*~*~*~*

Hehehe! More to come soon!


	10. Snarky Talks and Sexual Tension

**NOTES:**

            Much snarkiness ensues. After all, warring factions will have to work together!

**DEDICATION:**

            To my girl Charisse, who simply rules the universe. God _DAMN_, how do you do it?!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            ::death glares::

*~*~*~*

            After much deliberation and hesitation, Oliver Wood decided to do something completely and utterly unprecedented. 

            Now, it was extremely trying for any self-respecting Gryffindor to approach a Slytherin for aid and information regarding another Slytherin, but especially with the specific parties involved, the task was well-nigh impossible.

            But Oliver Wood was a Gryffindor, a brave and noble soul, willing to risk extensive exposure to smirking smarminess and extremely distasteful questions, for the sake of the greater good.

            After all, no matter what, he would _have_ to get along with Fl—Cass. She was part of his team now, and all of them were going to compete against the top Quidditch players from all different countries around the world. And for the sake of team unity and ease of communication, he would undertake a task of truly Herculean proportions.

            He would go and voluntarily talk to Carl Warrington and... he would even tell Warrington what had happened. And Warrington, as he somehow seemed to be friends with Cass, would (hopefully) give him advice on how to deal with the situation. And of course... if all else fails, he could have Warrington act as a go-between, if he and Cass were not getting along.

            "A word, Warrington," he said rather uncomfortably. The Chaser paused in his conversation with Skyler Zabini and looked at him.

            "A word? About...?"

            Skyler gave the two a curious look, but discreetly walked off the field, nodding a farewell to both men. Warrington turned back to Oliver.

            "So, what horrifyingly unusual thing has happened that I am not quite aware of? _You_ voluntarily coming to me for 'a word'... well?"

            Oliver inwardly grimaced. Yup, there would be smarminess. But this was a necessary evil. And he would hopefully only have to go through it once.

            "It's... about Cass Flint."

            "Interesting," Warrington raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "You're not calling her 'that howling mad spiteful little Flint twit' or something along those lines."

            "Would you prefer that I did?" Wood snapped. Warrington put up a hand in a defensive gesture.

            "Up to you... just surprised, that's all. Well, I suppose I shouldn't be. Something _obviously_ happened... she had your Quidditch robes. So, how _was_ that, anyway? I'm quite surprised... something rather unusual must have happened for her to gain possession of them..." Warrington let the sentence trail off suggestively, and raised an eyebrow. "Must say that I'm impressed. She's not exactly the type of girl to let a bloke... ah... get close to her... so easily. You must be more oddly attractive to girls than previously thought... strange..."

            "_What the devil are you talking about, Warrington?!_" Oliver bellowed, "You have _such_ a one-track mind! You make it sound as if we shagged or something!!"

            "You didn't?"

            "Of course we didn't! Unlike you, not all of us are ruled by our libido!" Wood hissed. Warrington sniggered.

            "All right... then, what happened?"

            "She got drunk."

            "Huh? When? Why? And how does that connect to her somehow gaining possession of your old Quidditch robes?"

            "I'm not quite sure exactly why... I went to the Leaky Cauldron that evening after practice, and there she was, actually all dressed up in dress robes, sitting alone, drowning herself in Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. She was about to pass out, and I was going to call the Knight Bus to take her home, but she couldn't tell me where her home _was_. So I had to take her in for the night."

            "Ohh..." Warrington said slowly, "And how did _that_ go?"

            Oliver felt his face heating up slightly under the other man's probing scrutiny, "Ah... she started crying about how everyone hated her, and how she was expected to be a lady and such and such... and because she was getting sick, I had her go change out of her dress robes into my old Quidditch robes..."

            "I _see_..." Why the devil was it that Carl Warrington, blasted bugger, made the simplest words sound so full of twisted innuendo just by the inflection of his voice?! Oliver restrained an urge to punch him and continued with his story. Somehow, after he'd gotten started telling a recount of what had happened, the floodgates seemed to open, and he didn't leave a single thing out. And predictably, Warrington guffawed uncontrollably at the mention of a drunken Cass romping with his captain on the bed.

            "What?! It's _not funny!_ She was _obviously_ completely foxed, and... and... she had _no_ idea what she was doing... and... _I fail to see what is so damned amusing about this!_"

            Warrington sniggered some more, then calmed down enough to say a phrase in some foreign language. "In vino veritas..."

            Oliver blinked, "What?"

            "In vino veritas... 'In wine there is truth'..." Warrington clarified, his mouth twitching uncontrollably, "Drunk people are honest... I think that Cass _fancies_ you..."

            "You do _not!_"

            "Okay... I do not," Warrington conceded, "Not completely. But she must have thought something unnaturally highly of you that time... and you didn't _let_ her snog you?"

            "Of course not!" Oliver looked outraged, "She had no idea what she was doing!"

            Warrington shook his head, still laughing, "No wonder she's so embarrassed... she probably thinks that you find her repulsive... and even if she doesn't _actually_ fancy you..."

            "I don't find her repulsive! Not at all!" Oliver blurted out. Then blinked and groaned as Warrington immediately jumped on that tack.

            "Oh _really_..."

            "What? She's not repulsive... but _don't you go getting any ideas, Carl Warrington!_"

            "No ideas are being gotten at all," Warrington said in a patently innocent voice, and Oliver glared.

            "This..."

            "This should make practices interesting," Warrington said thoughtfully. "Well… at least you know now that Cass isn't exactly simply antisocial so much as… frustrated with society."

            "Yes, yes… although she doesn't have to take it out on _me_…"

            "Oh, it's nothing _personal_… you just happen to be male, that's all… and a Quidditch player to boot. Oh yes… and let's not forget, a Gryffindor. All things considered, she's been surprisingly _nice_ to you."

            Oliver made a discontented noise, "Still… it's going to be damned difficult to work with her on the team if she's going to be so rude…"

            Warrington shook his head, "You've had an unhealthy exposure to too many persons un-Slytherin, my friend."

*          *          *

            It was a very determined, forbearing Oliver Wood who showed up at the Quidditch pitch at dawn the next day. All right. He could do this. Harry and even Warrington, he probably wouldn't have problems with, because they were on his team and he knew what they would be like. Whitby and Cornfoot had both seemed rather genial sorts when he'd met them. Zabini… he had no idea, but… well, she couldn't be worse than Fl—Cass. As for the latter… well…. he would… he would… he would deal with it. Yes. Somehow.

            To their credit, everyone arrived at eight o'clock sharp. Warrington, Zabini and Flint hung out in their little group of Slytherinish smirkingness, but otherwise, did not say anything to him.

            "Er, all right… I believe that everyone knows who everyone else is, right?"

            "Yes… yes…" Cass said impatiently, her voice killingly sarcastic, "Let's skip the 'this-is-my-name-and-this-is-a-type-of-dessert-that-begins-with-the-same-letter-as-my-name' nonsense and get to practice, shall we?"

            "I wasn't going to _do_ that," Oliver muttered darkly as Warrington sniggered and Zabini gave him a wry smile.

            "Ah… so how are we going to do this?" Steven Cornfoot broke in, "Are we just going to practice as if we are one team… Chasers against the Keeper and such?"

            "Yes… of course," Oliver said hurriedly.

            "Be sure that none of the Chasers distract you, Wood," Carl Warrington said genially, a wide smirk on his face. When both Oliver and Cass gave him lethal "shut-up-or-I-shall-concuss-you-with-my-broomstick!" glares, his grin widened. "What? I didn't necessarily mean Cass… for all we know, Cornfoot could be the one distracting you!"

            Steven Cornfoot rolled his eyes at Warrington, "Let's hope not."

            "I agree," Warrington said immediately, "But it's very entertaining how defensive those two get."

            "Okay, enough!" Oliver bellowed, "Everyone, broomsticks! A lap around the pitch, and then we start."

            And so, the practice started.

            It took a while to get used to playing with new players, and Oliver was sure that he was not the only one who needed time to adjust. The Chasers took a few tries to perfect and synchronize certain maneuvers, and the first time that Zabini and Whitby tried to do the Doppelbeater Defense, the bludger missed its target by several feet. The only person relatively unaffected was Harry, who simply skipped along his merry way, eyes peeled for the snitch.

            Lucky Potter.

            All of a sudden, there was a whoosh past his head, and Cass threw the Quaffle into the goal hoop. Then, as Warrington went to fetch the red ball on the rebound, she glared at him.

            "Pay attention, Wood!"

            He glared back at her, but kept his mind focused on the game after that.

            It soon became almost a competition between Wood and Flint. Gryffindor Keeper and Slytherin Chaser. An echo of past schooldays… except this time, the Chaser in question wasn't a trollish young man with a hard, square jaw and no regard for the rules… but a feisty young woman with narrowed, fiery eyes, who followed her heart to the bitter end. There were resemblances between brother and sister, but Oliver Wood found that, to his disconcertment, he couldn't easily 'dismiss' Cass as simply the opposition.

            Meaning… he couldn't simply chalk her up as an unruly, inconsiderate little twit. Odd… very odd…

            Which complicated things a bit.

            Quidditch. He had to keep his mind focused on Quidditch…

            Forcing his mind to blank out of these troubled thoughts, he kept an eagle-eyed track of the Chasers, and silently blocked incoming shots.

            He was almost grateful that Harry caught the snitch a few minutes later, ending the practice about half an hour after it had begun.

            Silently, he flew down, dismounted, and walked towards the locker rooms. Showering quickly, he Disapparated and left without a word.

            Gradually, the others left as well, mostly in more talkative moods than Oliver had been, with the exception of a somewhat morose Cass. Soon, the only ones left on the pitch were Carl Warrington and Skyler Zabini.

            "Well… _that_ was interesting," Skyler remarked, sitting down on one of the bleachers and performing a quick drying charm on her freshly washed hair. "Is it just me, or is the sexual tension between Cass and Wood thick enough to cut with a knife?"

            "Oh, it's not just you," Warrington reassured her with a grin, "This should prove fun." Skyler gave him a rebuking look.

            "Do you think of nothing but 'fun'? The two are not going to be at their best if they keep on spacing out thinking about each other."

            "Well… they'll get used to it," Warrington said easily, "And think of it this way… if they can get accustomed to playing and doing what they should be doing even while making googly eyes at each other… well, the other teams won't stand a chance, hmm?"

            "I suppose," Skyler laughed, "And you will persist in annoying them until they figure out what's going on between them?"

            "Who said that I would stop once they _do_ figure out?" Warrington laughed, "I need my entertainment…"

            Skyler shook her head and rolled her eyes, "You are a sad, sorry individual indeed if you have no other sources of entertainment…"

            He gave her a mock-pout, "That hits me right here," he put a hand on his heart.

            Skyler laughed, "Glad to know that I have such a powerful effect… what an ego-booster you're turning out to be."

            "Anything to please, ma'am," he said mockingly, standing up and giving her a low, courtly bow.

            "Thank you… so glad to know that if I ever need someone to hand-feed me my meals and clip my toenails, you'll be there."

            "Of course," Warrington laughed, "You just keep thinking that, Zabini."

            "Yes, I will," Skyler smiled sunnily and stood up. "See you around," she called over her shoulder before Disapparating away.

            Warrington smirked briefly and left the Quidditch pitch himself.

            Yes… things would be very interesting indeed.

*~*~*~*

Okay! How do you like it? Review and tell me!


	11. Teamwork

**NOTES:**

            Yay! More practicing! More gaming! ::dance dance::

**DEDICATION:**

            To Kimmie, rpg buddy extraordinaire! THANKS for reading and reviewing!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            Does my writing skill seem comparable to Rowling's?

*~*~*~*

            Subsequent practices, although they did get more polished, with players from different teams getting accustomed to each other's playing style and better able to work together in different maneuvers, did not become any more… _comfortable_.

            That is to say, the Oliver Wood and Cass Flint quasi-rivalry was still there, and with it, the indefinite 'something' that Warrington and Zabini, when discussing it amongst themselves, called 'sexual tension'.

            The glares, the snapbacks, the almost-eagerness of both to take offense at something the other was doing… it almost seemed as though the two of them were making a conscious effort to hate each other; After all, something like hate was easy and straightforward… more so than… the weirdness, at any rate.

            "Flint!" Oliver roared, "You almost stooged _again!_ _WATCH IT!_"

            Cass paused in midair and glared icily at him, "I did _NOT!_"

            "Warrington was within the scoring area! And you were _still_ coming at me!"

            "You wish," Cass sneered at him, "As if I'd _want_ to 'come at' you… I was waiting for Warrington to shoot, so that I could then get the Quaffle on the rebound!"

            "And they're at it again…" Skyler Zabini rolled her smoke-violet eyes and muttered to Carl Warrington as the two flew forward to once again break up the developing argument.

            "Say, Wood…" Skyler spoke, neatly turning Oliver's attention away from sniping at Cass and towards herself instead, "When are we going to have a reserve team announced?"

            "Tomorrow," Oliver answered brusquely before turning his scowl back towards Cass, "Flint…"

            "Wood, be _quiet_ for a moment, _PLEASE!_" Skyler raised her voice somewhat, an unmistakable note of Slytherin imperiousness creeping into her tone, "Let's focus on strategies and not waste time bickering, both of you! I don't know about the others, but _I_ for one can only draw so much amusement from watching you two fight…"

            "Speak for yourself," Warrington snickered, but sobered up partially when Skyler glared at him, "But Zabini here does have a point. You two are wasting time with your constant arguing."

            That seemed to do it. As the two most fanatical Quidditch players on the team practically bent themselves over backwards to prove to each other and everyone else that they would _never_ be wasting time, Skyler Zabini and Carl Warrington exchanged a wry glance.

            "That did it…" Skyler remarked in passing as she flew in pursuit of a bludger. Warrington gave a smirk.

            "Works every time…"

*          *          *

            The reserve team, as Oliver had affirmed, arrived the next day. Chasers Justin Finch-Fletchley of the Appleby Arrows, Emma Dobbs of the Wimbourne Wasps and Morag MacDougal of the Wigtown Wanderers. Beaters Dennis Creevey and Anthony Goldstein, both of the Chudley Cannons. Keeper Kala Montague, and Seeker Cho Chang. A fairly good team, and with the addition of more people to consider, there was less time spent in active argument by Oliver Wood and Cass Flint.

            The first game on the schedule, for the English All-Star team, would be played against Bulgaria. The Bulgarian team was quite good overall… having recently defeated Portugal, it was captained by star Seeker and former Triwizard Champion Viktor Krum. That season, they were using a new Keeper in Anton Korsakoff, and the young man was fairly skilled. Oliver was pretty sure that his Chasers would be more than a match for Korsakoff… but they would nevertheless have to play hard and play well. Krum and Harry… both were brilliant Seekers… and although Harry's playing had improved steadily ever since the beginning of his career his first year, Oliver would take no chances. 

            His mind was full of thoughts of his team, he shrugged on the blue robes of the English team. Would he be able to block the shots from Bulgarian Chasers Ivanov, Fedotova, and Savin? Would Harry catch the snitch before Krum? Would Cornfoot, Warrington and… Cass… be able bypass Korsakoff, with Zabini and Whitby aiding them? And… would Cass… he frowned slightly. Whatever risks she took out there on the field were her choice. And… yes, Vilensky and Belov were brutal Beaters… but she would be all right. So would the rest of the team, of course.

            The crowds were wild as they went out onto the pitch. Oliver gave his team one last glance, his eyes shifting from one face to the next, before he landed in the center of the pitch to shake hands with Viktor Krum.

            Krum had not seemed to change much since the year Ireland and Bulgaria competed for the World Cup. Still the dark, quiet, somewhat sullen-looking fellow with the slouching posture but eyes sharp and beady-black under his craggy brows. He politely shook hands with Oliver Wood, and then took to the air without a word.

            The crowds' cheers and applause grew much louder when the referee, a small, grinning Chinese man named Cheng-Dao Wang, merrily released the Snitch, then the bludgers, and finally the Quaffle.

            The red ball had barely flown into the air before a blue blur shot forward and grabbed it, not stopping for a moment and streaking onward towards the Bulgarian goalposts. Cass Flint's eyes were narrowed, her nostrils flared, her pert chin jutting out. Nothing or no one would get between her and the first goal of the game…

            One of the Bulgarian Beaters was female; a tall, brawny woman with a hard, tanned face crowned by severely pulled back pale brown hair. Olga Vilensky raised a powerful arm, and pelted a bludger with a resounding crack at the English Chaser with the set face.

            Cass instinctually ducked, flattening her body over the handle of her broomstick, when the bludger shot towards her head, and the black ball zoomed past. Skyler Zabini quirked an eyebrow in silent challenge towards the female Bulgarian Beater, and deliberately hit the bludger towards Keeper Korsakoff. 

            Anton Korsakoff was suddenly faced with a bludger from seemingly nowhere, and as he swerved to avoid getting his nose bashed in, Cass scored, neatly passed the Quaffle to a waiting Steven Cornfoot, and the latter put another shot through the left goal hoop before Korsakoff could stop him.

            "_Ten Zero England, Flint! Twenty Zero, Cornfoot!_"

            Oliver, at the other end of the field, allowed himself a small grin; then steeled himself as Boris Ivanov, Quaffle in possession, raced towards him. But just as Ivanov was about to shoot, Kevin Whitby's bludger, hitting the tail of his broomstick, caused him to wobble, giving a nearby Warrington the necessary second to punch the Quaffle out of Ivanov's arms and fly off with it.

            Warrington scored, making the score 30:0, but the Bulgarian Chaser Nina Fedotova grabbed the Quaffle on the rebound, and this time, managed to bypass Oliver. 

            "_Thirty Ten England, Fedotova!_"

            Cass caught the Quaffle once again, and the English Chasers went into a flawless Hawkshead Attacking Formation, with Skyler Zabini flanking then, brandishing her Beater's club and effectually keeping the Bulgarian Chasers at bay. A Bulgarian Beater, this time a red-faced man named Sergei Belov, hit a bludger at Cass, intent on knocking her off her path forward, but Skyler coolly intercepted the bludger and hit it in an almost-careless motion towards the side, where Vladimir Savin had been trailing the English Chasers, in an effort to capture the Quaffle once Belov made Cass drop it.

            Cass scored once again, then shot after Savin, who had caught it on the rebound. Twice she tried to punch the Quaffle out of Savin's grasp, but the man was about a head taller than she was, and he evidently had a grip of steel.

            Warrington appeared on Savin's other side, and gestured to Cass with a shake of his head to move out of the way. Frowning, Cass did so, and just as she flew past Savin, Warrington succeeded in punching the Quaffle out of Savin's arms.

            Passing it to Cass, he gave her a wry grin; "Don't try to compete muscle for muscle with blokes right now, Cass…"

            Cass gave a brief nod even as she tore off in the opposite direction with the Quaffle.

            The game went on. In the time span of another two hours, Bulgaria managed to score two more shots, but England was ahead quite a bit. Steven Cornfoot, Quaffle in arm, somersaulted in the air and avoided taking a bludger to the head from Vilensky, and scored once again.

            "_One Hundred Thirty England, Cornfoot!_" The Quidditch Commentator's booming voice echoed through the stadium, and the English supporters loudly voiced their support and excitement. 

            Oliver allowed himself a small smile.

            The smile turned to a look of alarm when Vilensky and Belov flew together, unmistakably about to perform the Doppelbeater Defense. Together, the two Bulgarian Beaters, eyes gleaming, hit a bludger towards him… and Ivanov was coming towards him with the Quaffle…

            And at that moment, in the strange, exhilarating way that things occur during Quidditch games, several astonishing things happened.

            Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver Wood saw Harry Potter diving.

            He was too far away… and too busy worrying about the bludger coming at him, the Chaser coming at him, to know if Harry was feinting or not.

            And then, a streak of blue shot close before him, cutting off the path of Boris Ivanov… and then, another blur of blue, slightly taller, though not by much… and there was a crunch… and when the two had passed, there was no Quaffle being throw his way, nor bludger headed his way.

            He blinked, and then saw Skyler Zabini come to a stop, panting, about a foot away from him. She glanced at him and explained through the din of the crowd as she tried to catch her breath.

            "Cass… intercept… Quaffle… I… intercept… bludger…"

            Before Oliver could say a word in reply, though, the stadium exploded in cheers as Harry Potter came to an abrupt stop in the center of the pitch. The Golden Snitch was clutched in his hand.

            "_And the final score of the game is 260:30, Victory to England! As English Seeker Harry Potter catches the Snitch, Chaser Cassandra Flint scores one final shot after a daring, difficult interceptive maneuver that put her right in the line of fire from a Bludger! But no harm done, as Beater Skyler Zabini caught the Bludger before it could impact and do any damage! Excellent job, and Congratulations to the English team!_"

            Dazed but ridiculously happy, Oliver floated down to the ground to join the rest of the team. He grinned as numerous hands clapped on Harry's shoulder, and the grin only grew when he saw Warrington, a smirk on his face, lift a laughing, windblown Skyler Zabini into the air and twirl her wildly for a moment before setting her down. The grin grew a little strained when Warrington stepped up to Cass and made as if to do the same thing.

            But Cass merely rolled her eyes, albeit in a surprisingly good-natured way, and ducked under his outstretched arms, "No, I don't _think_ so…"

            Warrington laughed and gave her a manly thump on the shoulder instead before stepping back.

            Oliver turned to Cass, and swallowed somewhat awkwardly before addressing her.

            "That was the most _bloody_ reckless thing I've ever _seen,_ Flint! What were you thinking?!"

            She glared at him, "Don't you _dare_ start on this, Wood!"

            They scowled at each other for a moment, before Oliver broke into a grin, "That was an excellent game! You did a corking job! A little… er… mad, but still, good work!"

            She merely gave him a smirk that was almost a smile before walking off towards the showers.

            He shrugged somewhat as he watched her go. That, and no biting rejoinder. Coming from Cass Flint, that was practically a thank you.

            Perhaps he was beginning to understand her somewhat.

*~*~*~*

w00t! More to come soon!


	12. Scheming Slytherins

**NOTES:**

            As Oliver and Cass seem to be stubborn and in denial, other, smarter people will have to work and nudge them in the right direction. Fun and scheming ensues!

**DEDICATION:**

            To Dove, the wonderful and talented one... thanks for the reviews, and glad that you like how this is going so far!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            I'm in a very smiting mood today. Don't piss me off even further by suing. I might be forced to kill you.

*~*~*~*

            The English All-star team basked in its victory against the Bulgarians for about a week. As the team's players went through with the requisite round of interviews, photo shoots, love letters and Howlers (two of which had been sent to them from Bulgarian supporters, one of which came from a man maintaining that the 'vicked voman Chaser vos geeving me de evil eye during de game'), Oliver and Cass avoided coming near each other whenever possible, and when it wasn't possible, minimizing conversation to the short and snarky.

            And then, the team returned to England for the time being, and practices resumed. The next game on the schedule would be played against the United States team, and naturally, Oliver Wood had methodically and meticulously looked up everything that could possible be found out about their new opponents.

            "All right, team… the good news is that the Seeker, Knapp… is fairly inexperienced. I daresay that Harry here, as long as he does what he's supposed to do, can easily capture the snitch. But we also have to make sure to have a sizable lead on them in terms of points. That might make or break whether or not we actually make it into the final rounds, and I think that with this ruddy good team that we have, we have a good chance. Now, we just have to _take_ it and make the best of it…" Oliver paced back and forth in front of his team, and addressed the others.

            "Yes… yes… we know," Cass cut in rather snippily, "Let's play, shall we?"

            Oliver glared at her, but did not comment. The team practiced, regulars against reserves, and after Harry had captured the Snitch a little more than an hour after the practice started, the hostile factions stalked towards the opposite locker rooms without a word.

            As was becoming increasingly common after practices, Carl Warrington and Skyler Zabini lingered on the pitch after the rest of them had left. The two troublemaking Slytherins sat down in the stands, and both wore frighteningly calculating expressions of pure and unadulterated evil on their faces. That is to say, they were preparing for a somewhat serious conversation.

            "You know, it's not funny any more," Skyler remarked. "Those two pussy-footing around each other like that… it's not as if avoiding each other like basilisks running from a rooster is going to _help_."

            "I suppose," Warrington sighed, "They're not even sniping at each other any more. It's no fun to watch, really… and they're so firmly in denial that they're not going to work this out any time soon."

            "Sad, really…"

            "Yes indeed… makes me almost feel bad about my teammates' stupidity."

            "Don't be so _mean_… I wonder how _you_ would do in such a situation!" Skyler swatted his arm and glanced playfully at him, wrinkling her nose slightly.

            "Much better than Wood, for sure," Carl smirked, "At the very least, I wouldn't run from her as if she were a rabid Acromantula or something."

            "What a pleasant image," Skyler rolled her eyes, "But… this is insupportable! They can't keep on doing this… it's getting highly irritating…"

            "Not to mention exceedingly _boring_…" Warrington interjected.

            "That too… but what do we do?"

            "Well, love potions are out… as are anonymous and idiotic obvious fake love notes… as are truth potions. Hmm… the best thing to do would obviously be to get the two together in one place at one time so that they can, if nothing else, yell at each other and release some of this tension. Although, of course, getting the two to shag in a broom closet would be best."

            "Well certainly… but that's not _quite_ feasible as of yet."

            "True… they shouldn't do that 'til Quidditch season is over. We don't want Cass to become a mother quite _yet_…"

            "You're horrible," Skyler smirked.

            "And proud of it."

            "Figures," Skyler said dryly, "Although… not that that's a _bad_ thing…"

            "Of course not," Warrington grinned, "If I were, heaven forbid, _nice_ and _harmless_, I wouldn't be a Slytherin! And you, being a Slytherin yourself… would certainly understand."

            "Well yes, granted. Although I don't make a sport out of pushing people's buttons."

            "Only out of trying to crack my head open when we play against each other," Warrington retorted, though his voice was genial and showed that he held no grudge against her for it, "I feel _so_ special."         

            "As you should," Skyler said candidly. "Hmm… what to do… there must be _some_ way…"

            And, much to the scheming Slytherins' delight, a way manifested itself the next day.

*          *          *

"_You are cordially invited to the House Party/Baby Shower  of _

_Angelina Johnson-Weasley _

_On this Sunday, at three o'clock, at_

_3101.24 Phloem Street_

_Hope to see you there!_

_~Angelina and Fred Weasley~_"

*          *          *

            "I assume that you've received the invitation as well," Warrington remarked the next afternoon, as Skyler waved her wand over her damp, dark head.

            "_Desiccatus_! Yes... she is _my_ teammate, after all. Although what they were thinking in inviting _you_, I cannot say."

            "Perhaps they were thinking that they needed to have someone there who was handsome, charming, amiable and conniving?"

            "Perhaps," Skyler giggled lightly, "Again, I wish to know why _you_ were invited."

            Warrington put on a mock-tragic expression, "You don't consider me handsome, charming, amiable and conniving?"

            "No comment whatsoever. Although... you're _certainly_ not amiable."

            "Seductive?"

            "Again, no comment," Skyler chortled, "Oh great and modest one..."

            "Awww, you love me, you really love me!" Warrington purred, and Skyler burst out laughing outright.

            "Enough of this, you bigheaded prat... now, we have to figure out what to do at this event. I can only assume that if even _you_ got invited, both of them did as well."

            "Hmm..." Warrington's face took on a shrewd, crafty expression. And together, the two Slytherins plotted the downfall of their unsuspecting teammates.

*          *          *

            Cass felt distinctly out of place in the bustling, joyous atmosphere of the Johnson-Weasley house. Sure, she was a member of the Holyhead Harpies team just like Angelina, but really, she didn't know the other women that well... and these assorted redheads roaming about the place... 

            Quietly sipping her iced pumpkin juice, she watched as a slender redheaded woman with a strawberry-blonde baby on one hip and a tall, silvery-haired young man whom she recognized as Draco Malfoy, former Slytherin Seeker, on her arm, walked gracefully and quickly into the room, and give Angelina a hug. Malfoy gave Angelina a curt but civil nod, and patiently waited as his wife chatted briefly with Angelina before going off to find Angelina's husband Fred.

            "Hullo there," Warrington stepped up to her seat, "Good showing here, hmm?"

            "I barely know anyone here," Cass replied, "So many redheads!"

            Warrington chuckled, "Ah well... I'm sure that you know the Weasleys are an abundant family..."

            "And all of them are gathered here," Cass stated.

            "That's true... and all their spouses and progeny as well. And then, there's us... but come on, stop sitting here alone." Warrington pulled her to her feet. "They're having a dance in the other room."

            "Carl Warrington, you are _not_ making me dance."

            Warrington merely smirked and pulled her along. "All right. I'm not _making_ you. Just coercing you." He grinned as a fast, jazzy piece came blaring from the WWN, and pulled her onto the makeshift dance floor. Carefully, as he led Cass in the dance, he scanned the floor.

            All right... Cho Chang and Roger Davies, predictably... Hermione Granger and Percy Weasley, dancing together close by and talking about bloody _Arithmancy_ as they danced. Hmm... Alice Brocklehurst and Terence Higgs... Bill Weasley and a blonde beauty... Fleur Delacour, except she was wearing a ring. All right... Malfoy and Virginia, and Ron Weasley predictably looking furious as he danced with Lavender Brown. Harry Potter and a younger-looking version of Fleur, likely that little sister of hers, Geraldine or Georgiana or something that started with a G... Gabrielle. Yes... now, where were...

            "Oh, look... Skyler is dancing with the dictatorial Quidditch pillock..." Cass remarked tonelessly. Warrington grinned to himself, and turned to see Skyler Zabini, her eyes gleaming at him over Wood's shoulder. He gave her a discreet nod, and gently steered himself and Cass over towards the other couple.

            Letting go of Cass for a brief second, he cleared his throat, "Wood, may I cut in?"

            Startled, Oliver Wood looked up at the other man. He'd been asked by Zabini for a dance earlier, and, shrugging, had agreed. Now, Warrington was asking to cut in... and there was Fl—Cass.

            Dumbly, he nodded, and Warrington grinned and stepped over to were Skyler was standing, taking her hand. He glanced at Cass, whose face had all of the sudden taken on a mutinous look, and airily addressed his Quidditch captain.

            "Thanks... now, _do_ take care of Cass here, hmm?"

            "I... _hate_... you..." Cass hissed at Warrington. The latter gave her a typically smarmy grin, and led Skyler merrily away.

            Brows furrowed, Oliver offered his hand to Cass, and the woman took it with a dark scowl. The WWN started playing another song, and the two danced in silence. And Cass swore to kill Warrington, the bloody wanker, at first opportunity.

            There was a brief cadence in the music, and she felt herself being twirled gently. All right... so this wasn't _completely_ bad... but still. "I hate dancing."

            "Funny... me too," he remarked, "Quidditch is much better."

            "Quidditch is the _best!_"

            "I agree."

            "They should stop this dancing nonsense and everyone should go play Quidditch."

            "I know... we have a _game_ coming up... you know that Kyle Robertson, the American team's captain, once broke a referee's jaw with a misfired bludger..."

            "Bloody terrific... what's his _problem?_..."

            A little distance away, Carl Warrington and Skyler Zabini grinned at each other as they finished up their dance.

*~*~*~*

Yeah. More to come soon. Review!


	13. Presumption and Protectiveness

**NOTES:**

            More Quidditch ensues! Because we love Quidditch. Oh yes, and more bastardly Quidditch players. Who are ::cough:: dealt with in highly appropriate manners.

**DEDICATION:**

            To my SOBettes! You ROCK!! And a huge w00t for sexy irresistible Quidditch players!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not sue Thalia, unless thou desireth to be curst to the lowest pits of the infernal regions.

*~*~*~*

            All right. So they danced. So they even had... dare she say it? _Fun_ when they danced and talked about Quidditch. So much so that she didn't even feel the necessity to hex Carl Warrington into an unrecognizable mass of twitching Slytherin Chaser when it was over, for getting her into that situation.

            So W—Oliver wasn't _that_ bad. He hadn't even patronized her in a very long time. 

            Damn him!

            Things were so much _easier_ when he had just been another hateful male Quidditch player!

            Damn it all to hell, why the devil had she allowed that to change in her mind?

            Why couldn't she just keep things _simple_ and wallow in her bitter man-hating bitchiness?

            _Honestly_...

            Damn him. Damn this. Damn... damn... _damn_...!!

            Had she not had a Very Important Quidditch Game coming up in two days, Cass would have been quite tempted to go to the Leaky Cauldron again and drink herself into merciful, happy oblivion.

            But she did have a Quidditch game coming up. And with her luck... if she _did_ decide to sod it all and go drinking, he'd show up again. And she'd make a bloody fool of herself. _Again_.

            Oliver Wood was miserable-ifying her life. Damn him. _DAMN_ him.

            Perhaps she _should_ go and hex Warrington into an unrecognizable mass. Maybe it would make her feel better.

            But knowing Warrington, smarmy smart-arsed bastard... Warrington had been Head Boy in his day. He'd deflect her hexes and laugh at her as she was hit by her own Jelly-Legs Jinx or some such...

            And moreover... she was _sure_ that there was something going on between him and Zabini, what with the two flirting back and forth and staying after practices to talk. And it would be nice to keep her only female confidante on this ruddy team in good humor. A Beater no less.

            Damn W—Ol—_WOOD_. Damn Warrington. Damn Zabini. Damn...

            Sod it... who was she kidding?

*          *          *

            Thankfully, the advent of the game against the American team gave her other things to think about. Although, looking back on it afterwards, perhaps it only increased her more and more unnatural, disorganized thoughts.

            The American team was a strong, albeit rather upstart and audacious one. The captain, one Kyle Robertson, was a Beater. He had several years of playing Professional Quidditch under his belt, and perhaps his experiences had been very good. In any case, they had given him a certain outlook on Quidditch and life that was… somewhat complacent.

            In any case, the day of the game, Cass and the rest of the team silently took to the air as Oliver Wood and Kyle Robertson shook hands in the middle of the pitch. The Quidditch Commentator was an American man from Alabama, and frankly, his abominable drawling accent made Cass's skin crawl in revulsion, but she forced herself to ignore it and watch the referee release the balls into the air. Snitch and bludgers… Skyler and Harry were both already staring at the self-motile balls… and then…

            As was almost always the case in a Quidditch game, Cass was the first one to shoot forth when the Quaffle was released. Managing to snatch the red ball from right under the nose of American Chaser Vivan Bailey, she tore off towards the goals, well aware that Warrington was on one side of her, waiting for a pass if necessary, and Whitby was on the other, fending off Chaser Brian Spencer with Beater club raised.

            Andrew Gaines, American Beater, hit a bludger towards her head, and she swerved out of the way, handing the Quaffle to Warrington for a moment, then flying to Warrington's other side to be passed the ball once again. The two Slytherins, passing the Quaffle back and forth like they'd used to do when they were in school, made their speedy way towards the goal hoops, and Cass, at the last moment, bypassed American Keeper Shane Brockman, scoring the first goal of the game.

            Warrington, perhaps by dint of superior size and strength, stole the Quaffle from Vivian Bailey, and before American Beater and captain Kyle Robertson could hit him with a bludger, scored again. He and Cass exchanged smug smirks; Slytherins worked very well together, after all.

            American Chaser Mackenzie Jones caught the Quaffle on the rebound, and made off towards the opposite end of the field, with Kevin Whitby and Steven Cornfoot both in hot pursuit. Jones ducked Whitby's bludger, passed the Quaffle to Spencer, and Spencer managed to put a shot past Wood, making the score 20:10.

            Steven Cornfoot, capturing the Quaffle on the rebound, wove in and out of white-robed American players and joined Cass and Warrington in Hawkshead Attacking Formation. The three Chasers, working seamlessly together after the innumerable rounds of practices, passed the Quaffle back and forth between them as they shot towards the Keeper Brockman; three menacing blue arrows. Finally, Steven Cornfoot entered the scoring area, and threw the Quaffle through the left hoop; earning the English team another ten points.

            Within the next hour, it looked like the American team would be playing not quite the cleanest of games. Twice the English were awarded with penalty shots, as Spencer and Robertson, respectively, sought dishonorable ways to play the game. Warrington, Skyler and Cass exchanged glances with each other as Steven took the second penalty shot.

            Slytherin Quidditch… it was time to put some force and cunning into play.

            "_An' Robertson gets smacked on the shoaulder with a bludger from British Beater Zabini as the British Chaser Flint scoares once agin…"_ the American commentator drawled in his twangy voice two hours later, "_Ah do believe that the British taem is tryin' to show that they ain't gonna be that aesy to beat! An' would ya look at that! British Chaser Warrington scoares once agin', makin' the scoare 100:50, Britain in the lead…_"

            By the time the teams took a break, at the six-hour point, the British team was in the lead, 160:70. The Snitch had _still_ not made an appearance, and both Seekers were getting rather antsy. 

            "Well, Harry, I think that it's possible for the Snitch to have not shown up yet… after all, you've a sharp eye for that kind of thing, and the other Seeker has not spotted it either. And we have a sizable lead on them right now…" Oliver reassured his Seeker, even though he himself looked rather wary. But the wary look on his face was replaced with one of alarm when sounds of argument came from the by the women's locker room.

            "What's going on over there?" Warrington, taking a swig from a bottle of water, asked. Oliver shook his head, and the Chaser, Keeper and Seeker all walked briskly over towards the sounds of shouting.

            Cass Flint and Skyler Zabini were standing together, and both were wearing expressions of superior Slytherin boredom. Except they were both scowling as well. _NOT_ a good sign, by any means.

            Kyle Robertson was leering at the former, and wearing what was supposed to be a suave, debonair smirk.

            The fact that all Slytherins of both genders were grand masters of The Smirk made the attempt futile and farcical. 

            "Blast, even bloody _GOYLE_ could pull off a better smirk than that," Skyler whispered to Cass, rolling her eyes, before turning back to Kyle Robertson with a patented haughty expression.

            "If you please, sir, my teammate and I wish to be left alone."

            "But I am very _interested_ in your teammate here," Robertson persisted, "She's a damn good Chaser… and…" he whistled, and Cass gave him a Basilisk-like death glare.

            "What _bloody_ part of _'WE WISH TO BE LEFT ALONE'_ do you not understand?" Cass hissed. Skyler rolled her eyes again.

            "The 'alone' part, obviously." The Beater gave the American Captain a lethal smile all the more menacing for its sweetness, "I do believe that we have made it _quite_ clear… you are not welcome here."

            "Oi, Skyler…" Warrington had, somehow, perhaps unconsciously, started calling the female Beater by her first name, rather than 'Zabini', "This bloke bothering you two?"

            "Oh, he's _trying_ to," Skyler answered airily, "That is… he's trying to get Cass to shag him, I believe… and as for bothering us… well, he's been doing that. It's all right though… I'm sure that if he keeps it up, one of us will lose our temper, and hex him beyond recognition. Then his team will suffer, and we can sue him for sexual harassment, and all will be solved. We win the game, the pillock gets what he deserves…"

            But before Skyler could proceed any further with her impeccable logic, Oliver Wood had sprang up upon Robertson, eyes blazing in righteous Gryffindor fury. "_WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?! BOTHERING MY TEAM LIKE THAT! LEAVE AT ONCE!!_"

            Wood's hands were wrapped around the American's throat, and for all intensive purposes, it seemed like he was very eager to pound or hex the American captain into a bloody pulp, Magical Games and Sports regulations be damned.

            But before Oliver could do any serious damage to the other man, Warrington and Harry pulled him off forcefully by the arms. Kyle Robertson stumbled back, coughing, eyes wide. But before he could say anything more, or Oliver could rail at his teammates for preventing him from beating Robertson into unconsciousness, Warrington spoke, and his voice was lethally soft.

            "You've been told to leave several times. Evidently, as _speech_ does not seem to work… well, I believe that I shall let Cass perform the honors." He gave Cass a look that the seething Oliver and confused Harry did not understand (most likely a Slytherin thing), but Cass and Skyler smirked maliciously, and the former raised her wand.

            A banishing charm later, the locker rooms of the British team were free from interlopers, and Skyler, as well as Harry Potter, walked off. Oliver Wood, however, was still pacing around the area where the American Quidditch player had been a few moments ago, and fuming visibly, muttering profanities of a most gruesome nature under his breath.

            Cass Flint and Carl Warrington watched curiously as their captain, in an unprecedented and completely unexpected manner, forewent his usual practice of watching the reserves play for an hour, and instead, spent the entire time fuming about the outrageous, rude and presumptuous behavior of the American captain. In time, Skyler and the rest of the team returned, and the female Beater rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

            "Relax, Wood. There are better and more effective ways of... _dealing_ with the likes of him... than muttering about him in Gaelic swear words. Leave it to me, and we'd better get going."

            And then, it was time for them to get back on the field. The reserves had done well; and the score, when they went back on, was 200:80, in favor of England.

            The regular team took to the air again, and this time around, Robertson found that he could barely concentrate on playing his part, much less directing his team. The dark-haired Beater chick seemed to have a grudge against him, for he found himself pelted with bludgers at the most inopportune times and in the most inconvenient of places. 

            And then, just as Steven Cornfoot made another shot, putting the score at 240:100, Harry Potter, with American Seeker Jessica Knapp at his heels, dove in pursuit of the finally visible Snitch. And a split second before Harry caught the Snitch and the stadium erupted in cheers from the British supporters, the merrily humming Skyler Zabini blithely caught Robertson with a bludger in the solar plexus, knocking him off his broom.

            And so it was, that as the British all-star team won a glorious victory against the American team, the American captain was being levitated down onto a stretcher before he could hit the ground. And then, as the drawling Commentator announced the final score of 390:100, Kyle Robertson was ignominously carted off the field.

            The British team, most of them, departed from the game in high good spirits. Most of them congratulated Skyler on her excellent bludger tactics, and Warrington mockingly rebuked her, saying that she could have ruptured the fellow's spleen, how _could_ she have been so careless?

            "Hmm? Careless?"

            "You could have ruptured his spleen! And you _didn't!_" Warrington chortled, "If that's not carelessness on your part, I don't know what is."

            Skyler shook her head and grinned, "I'd be sued for killing him, then. And that would be bad... this season isn't over yet. But I _also_ could have hit him somewhere else... and permanently prevented him from reproducing," she said sweetly.

            "You, Skyler Zabini, are _evil_," Warrington sniggered, "I bow humbly at your feet." The Chaser bowed low in front of the young woman, and Skyler laughed.

            "Well, it has been established long ago that you were my personal slave..."

            "This sounds too kinky for my innocent Gryffindor ears," Harry muttered to himself, and shook his head. Kevin Whitby laughed.

            "I'm _sure_, Potter. _You're_ the one who is on the same team as that fellow year-round."

            "I try not to remember it," Harry said dryly, "And besides, there aren't any girls on our team; he's not _quite_ as kinky around blokes. Thank Merlin."

            Alas, once again, the peace was broken. Oliver Wood, after congratulating his team, sat down within the earshot of Cass Flint, and made the grave mistake of grumbling something about what he wanted to do to gits like Robertson who had the audacity to bother female Quidditch players. 

            And Cass, over-sensitive female Quidditch player, snapped at him and told him to shut up; she didn't need him to bloody take care of her from stupid prats like Robertson, how _dare_ he presume to do such a thing?

            And the rest of them sighed collectively.

            "Had I known that _this_ would happen _again_, I would have bludgered _THEM TWO_," Skyler Zabini muttered to Carl Warrington, "Please, for the love of God, do us all a favor and annoy him steadily until he bloody confesses or something. Hopefully before I am forced to kill one or both of them."

*~*~*~*

Gah... those two... they are just _so_ dense! ::thwacks them:: Oh well, review anyway!


	14. Cracking Under Pressure

**NOTES:**

            And _finally_, someone cracks! But no, this isn't over yet. Not by a long stretch. Because I'm sadistic like that. But if you have read other works by me before, you know this very well.

**DEDICATION:**

            To ickle Freddikins. Because.

**DISCLAIMER:**

            I will smite thee.

*~*~*~*

            Carl Warrington was a man with a mission.

            It was an occasion that happened not infrequently, but not _too often, much to Warrington's thankfulness, that he had to do this._

            Carl Warrington was no fool. As far as the weaknesses and idiosyncrasies of other people, he was very canny and observant.

            Generally, this rather Slytherin skill of sizing up people in disturbingly accurate assessments was used in poking basically harmless fun at others. After all, _someone_ had to keep people in check and on their toes. And moreover, it was _fun_.

            But this time, Warrington was not doing this for laughs. And his face was full of determination, not devilment.

            "Wood," Warrington called out, striding into the locker room after practice.

            "What do you want?"

            "A lack of hostility, for one thing," Warrington said calmly, "You and Cass…"

            "_I_ don't start the arguments," Wood said haughtily, "_She_ needs to learn how to control her bloody temper!"

            "Well, you could always ignore her… not snap back at her when she picks a fight with you," Warrington said reasonably. "Don't you think that that would aggravate her far more, and more effectively, than fighting back? Obviously she's trying to get a reaction from you; who said you had to give her what she wants?"

            "_I DON'T GIVE HER 'WHAT SHE WANTS'!! WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!_" Oliver exploded.

            "Hey, I don't think they heard you in Argentina just yet… want to say that a bit louder?"

            "Warrington, is there a point to this? I'm _not_ in the mood for your fascinating little Slytherin games today," Oliver ground out between clenched teeth.

            "Perhaps in the mood for some other, equally fascinating sorts of games with a different Slytherin?" Warrington asked genially.

            Oliver's face burned red, though whether from anger, embarrassment, or perhaps a combination of both… was rather unclear. Warrington, moving in for the kill, continued relentlessly.

            "You know, Cass gets pissed off by protective men, and understandably so," the Slytherin Chaser said thoughtfully, then paused, "But I'm sure she's also wondering just _why_ you are so protective towards her. I mean, sure, Marcus is… but he's her brother. And moreover, from the way you two get so _easily_ irritated at each other, one would think that you detested her and wouldn't ever do something like risk getting the Magical Games and Sports people on your arse for a hot-tempered little snit like her… or are these things related somehow? Perhaps she's… _getting to you_… in more ways than one, hmm?" Oliver sprang up, an indignant denial upon his lips, but Warrington was not done. "Ah well, can't say that I blame you, of course… that American bloke obviously thought she was quite passable… nothing like a girl who can play Quidditch, hmm?"

            And with that parting shot, Carl Warrington strode out of the locker room, leaving Oliver Wood in a highly annoyed, highly uneasy mood.

*          *          *

            "So, how did that go?"

            Warrington walked over to where Skyler Zabini stood, leaning against the wall of the broom shed. She had been waiting for him to finish conversing with Oliver. He shrugged lightly.

            "Well, I did what I could."

            "And…?"

            "He's in somewhat of a towering rage right now."

            "Excellent," Skyler grinned, "That's a good sign."

           "Of course it is," Warrington smirked, "I... pointed out to him certain conclusions that can be logically deduced from his actions... and I'm afraid that he doesn't like those conclusions..."

            "Well, that's certainly understandable," Skyler said thoughtfully, "After all, _he_'s the one who kept on saying that she was a crazy antisocial bint... he's making himself out to be a liar now."

            "Oh, no... not quite," Warrington sniggered, "He likely still thinks that she's a crazy antisocial bint. He just finds himself disconcertingly attracted to crazy antisocial bints. Poor Wood... he probably thought that he'd end up with some nice little Gryffindor or Hufflepuff..."

            "But how _boring_ would that be?" Skyler laughed, "No fireworks in the relationship. At least, with all their arguments, think of all the make-up shagging..."

            Warrington gave Skyler an amused look, "Shagging on your mind, eh?"

            "And _who_ makes all the comments about broomsticks?" Skyler retorted, grinning.

            "Touché," he acknowledged with a smirk, "But we were talking about Wood and Cass... unless you wish to pursue this _current_ topic of conversation?"

            "I bet that they'll be shagging each other before the final game," Skyler grinned.

            "You're on... and if you lose..."

            "I'll do whatever you want. For a day. Well... anything that won't land me in Azkaban for more than a day," Skyler said immediately, "Same terms apply with you."

            "Excellent," Warrington grinned, and took her outstretched hand. He shook it, then brought it up to his lips, laying a kiss on the knuckles, "We'll consider the wager sealed, then."

*          *          *

            Oliver Wood was sitting in his flat, on the couch. He had _Stunts and Stratagems: Professional Quidditch in the Modern Day by Prentice Bartlett_ open to page 26. 

            The book was brand-new, and hailed as a highly informative tome by Quidditch enthusiasts and experts everywhere. And he had had it on page 26 for the past twenty minutes.

            He was still on the first paragraph, and for once, didn't feel like he could concentrate.

            Bloody hell, this was _bad_.

            Setting the book down, Oliver rubbed his temples and frowned slightly. Something had to have been throwing his concentration off. Now... what _was_ it?

            It had to have been something that had aggravated or bothered him. And to such a horrific extent that even _Quidditch_ could not console him. Now... what could have caused this sort of distraction...

            Well, that day, on the pitch, during practice, Cass...

            _Cass._

            Bloody hell.

            Warrington's words to him after the game came back to him, echoing mockingly in his ear. 

_"...why you are so protective towards her..."_

            _"... Perhaps she's… getting to you… in more ways than one, hmm?"_

            _"Ah well, can't say that I blame you, of course… that American bloke obviously thought she was quite passable… nothing like a girl who can play Quidditch, hmm?"_

            But...! Warrington was _wrong!_ The smarmy bugger was obviously out of his ruddy _mind_... seemed to think that he, Oliver Wood, was... in _love_ with Cass Flint... or something similarly ridiculous! That was _preposterous!_

            After all, Cass was a _wholly_ unreasonable, utterly ornery, embittered shrew, with a tongue sharper than a hatchet, and she was prone to bouts of overly touchy sniping, and she was _completely_ rash most of the time, and she was _constantly_ in an ill humor at him, and on top of all of that, she was the sister of Marcus bloody _Flint!_ A _Slytherin!_

            And she was a damn good Chaser, despite her rather reckless tendencies. Which were expected, as she had never played on a team in school... never had the chance to learn caution. She was even beautiful when she was flying, totally in her element in the air, free and natural and uninhibited. And even though she was wild, she wasn't maliciously so... it was merely an untamed spirit, and not a mean, lowly one. And she was feisty... she wasn't the type to let anyone take advantage of her. An independent woman, strong mentally, physically and emotionally. Except for the brief, momentary glimpses that she so fiercely tried to hide; when she would be sad. And alone... and with a great capacity for love.

            _Love_.

            _WHAT?!_

            An unbidden image sprang to his mind... A drunk, glassy-eyed Cass, clad in over-large Gryffindor Quidditch robes, her face sad and forlorn, clinging to him. _"You don't like me?"_

            And he, comforting her, his hand on her head, fingers in the messy strands of dark hair. Appeasing her. For some reason or another. _"Of course I like you."_

            A kiss that landed at the corner of his mouth.

            And then, another unbidden image.

            That arrogant American Beater, harassing her. Not leaving her alone... and even now, he felt fury... washing over him like a wave of red...

            _Bloody hell_.

            And Oliver Wood came to the glorious conclusion that he absolutely _despised_ Carl Warrington. Who knew too fucking much.

*          *          *

            Practice the next day was torture. They had finals coming up, and had relocated to Spain in the morning. They had the Quidditch pitch all to themselves, but he couldn't concentrate... she was glaring at him with those dark eyes for missing simple saves. And that just made things worse.

            Gryffindors never _could_ keep things bottled up inside.

            After Harry had finally caught the blasted Snitch two hours later, Oliver Wood was like an ant crawling on a hot pot. Never had he been so glad that practice was over... this was ridiculous.

            All right... so he had to talk to Cass.

            Oh, sure... he was courting rejection and possibly emasculation. But something had to be done. Just so that if she _did_ reject him, he could bitterly hate her in peace rather than this bloody lack of concentration.

            Cass had no idea what had gotten into W—Oliver that day. He was looking at her an awful lot, and frowning to himself. Privately, she seethed... all right. So she wasn't beautiful. She wasn't ladylike. She wasn't _nice_ by any means... but did he _have_ to stare at her like that?! And he was preoccupied... and not concentrating on the practice! And why did she even _care_ if something was possibly wrong with him? She didn't! Really!

            "A word."

            He was looking at her, an almost-uncomfortable look on his face, as she emerged from the locker room. She glanced at Skyler, half-wishing that the Beater would stay and... then he wouldn't want a _private_ word...

            But Skyler was nowhere to be seen. Bint.

            "Fine," she said curtly.

            "I..." he scratched his head, seeming not to know exactly how to start, then scowled, and the words came out in a jumbled rush, "Oh sod this... Cass, you're the most perverse, belligerent wench I've ever had to deal with. I have no bloody idea how this happened... but I can't stop thinking about you! I... this is ridiculous. I find myself oddly attra... damn this. I believe I bloody love you!"

            Cass stared at him, uncomprehending, for a second. He... _what?!_

            He was still frowning, and fidgeting slightly. This was...

            He... loved her?

            Why?

            _How?_

            He barely knew her...

            Oh, who was she kidding? He knew her too well... that humiliating incident after the disastrous date with Edmund Baddock...

            To her utmost dismay, Cass found her cheeks heat up. She, Cass Flint, _blushing_? Oh... Smeg! _Damn_ him! She wasn't the type of girl who blushed! Over _anything!_

            And he was awaiting an answer of some sort...

            In a mild panic, she Disapparated with a pop and reappeared a moment later by the row of tents that they would be staying in until the World Cup was completed.

            "Carl!" she called, almost desperately.

            Carl Warrington's head poked out of one of the tents, "What's the matter?"

            "I... need to talk..."

            Warrington gave her a strange, long look, then nodded silently and beckoned her into the tent. 

*~*~*~*

And Oliver _finally_ confesses! There will be more fun stuff in the next chapter... and no, I won't make this easy for Cass and Oliver. Because I'm mean and evil. Bwahahaha! 


	15. Glowering Gryffindors and Smooching Slyt...

**NOTES:**

            Oliver jumps to conclusions. Silly Gryffindor… ah well. Two people hook up. Guess who?

**DEDICATION:**

            To Skyler again. Because she's just too _awesome_ and I am _unworthy!!!!!!_

**DISCLAIMER:**

            _Screw_ disclaimers. And no, not literally. Unless you're _really_ sick.

*~*~*~*

            "All right… tell me what happened. And why you look completely mortified." Warrington said calmly, sitting down in a chair in front of the cot. 

            "May I ask you a personal question?" Cass ventured, her fingers idly plucking at loose threads on the hem of her shirt.

            "Sure… and would you like an honest answer, or a reassuring one?"

            "Carl!" Cass glared at him, "Be serious!"

            "All right… all right," he rolled his eyes slightly, "Seriousness is seeping into my soul as we speak; make it quick, so I can undo the damage, hmm?"

            "How… ah…" Cass paused, and felt her cheeks heat up even more. Angry and ashamed of herself, she muttered out the question quickly and sullenly, "How do you know how you feel about someone?"

            Warrington's eyebrows rose to his hairline, "I beg your pardon? How you _feel_ about someone… isn't that simply… how you respond and what you think of a person? What's the conclusion… and how is this a personal question?"

            Cass sighed. Trust Carl Warrington to not make this easy for her. Bloody git… but she had to talk to _someone_… "I… well, that is to say… I don't know _what_ to think about him… he represents so many things that I dislike… and yet… I don't know."

            "Wood?" 

            "How did you know?"

            "Well, the bloody sexual tension between you two is only almost _visible_…" Warrington said sarcastically, "Let me guess… he is in love with you. And you don't know what to think."

            "You know me too well," she sighed, then reached up a hand and rubbed her forehead, "I don't even know… it's too bloody complicated. I… I _hated_ him… it was easier then. I don't know…"

            "Why did you hate him?"

            "What do you mean, why did I hate him?" Cass queried, "He was this cocky hot-shot male Quidditch player."

            "Well, so am I, and you don't hate me," Warrington jibed. Cass gave him a weak smile.

            "Don't be so sure… but that's not the point. I… he said he loved me."

            "Yes… yes, so I've gathered."

            "Why?"

            "Well… why don't you ask _him_ about it?" Warrington suggested logically, "After all, he's the one who said that…"

            "But… I don't know what I feel…"

            "Well, I think we've established that you don't hate him any more."

            "Not… exactly," Cass conceded, "Although I don't know if I love him."

            "Well… perhaps you should ponder that some more, hmm? I mean, you will have to give the bloke an answer someday…"

            "Thanks for pointing out the obvious," Cass said scathingly, "That doesn't help me figure out what I feel, though!"

            "Well… you should think more about it, hmm?" Carl said reasonably, "It would certainly brass Marcus off to no end if you _did_ shag Wood… the two were always mortal enemies…"

            Cass shook her head, and lay down on the cot, rubbing her temples slightly and shutting her eyes. All right… to think about these things… bah! 

            Simplicity was all…

            _What_ simplicity?!

            She fell asleep in Warrington's tent that night, still troubled. And Carl Warrington, smiling wryly and shaking his head, cast a cushioning charm on his chair and dozed off, bewailing the denseness of others.

*          *          *

Cass awoke the next morning to find herself in an unfamiliar bed. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, she looked around in an effort to figure out where she was.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," a male voice called out.

Carl Warrington was standing at the foot of the bed, smirking slightly and shaking his head, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Cass was silent for a moment, then remembered... oh goodness! She'd come in to tell him about W-- Oliver's confession... and try to figure out what to do; then she'd fallen asleep on his bed.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry I fell asleep..." she started. He shrugged good-naturedly.

"Don't worry about it, Cass... I'm all right." He gestured his chair.

"You sure?"

"A little sore, but otherwise perfectly fine. Nothing a nice long shower won't cure. You, however, should be off. Other people might get suspicious, you know," he added teasingly.

Cass rolled her eyes, "I know, I know..." Then, softly, "I still don't know what to do about W—Oliver... I..."

"Well, ponder it for a bit, then give him an answer... now, out with you." He gave her a gentle push towards the exit, and she slowly emerged from his tent.

Oliver Wood watched from his spot just a few feet away from Warrington's tent, and felt his stomach sink to his knees.

Bloody Slytherins. He hated them all...

*          *          *

            Cass was pondering on just what to say to Oliver when the latter, looking particularly peeved, barked for the team to get their arses in the air; how the devil were they going to face Spain unless they practiced?!

            "Blimey, _someone_ awoke with a burr in his knickers this morning," Skyler muttered as she took to the air, Beater club in one hand.

            Oliver Wood was relentless that practice. The Gryffindor temper was at its max that day, for some odd reason or another, and especially, he seemed infuriated at the Slytherin Chasers.

            _"Flint!"_ he barked, glowering at Cass, "What the bloody hell do you think you're _doing?_"

            Cass stared at him, puzzled, for once, no snarky comeback upon her lips. What was the matter now?

            "Give it a rest, Wood…" Warrington said wearily, "That's the first shot she's missed in ten… that's _really_ not bad…"

            _"You sod off!"_ Wood yelled at Warrington, "Damned Slytherins... you _would_ take her part, hmm? We have a bloody _game_ coming up and _you two_..."

            "Oliver, what are you talking about?" A completely mystified Steven Cornfoot asked Wood.

            Oliver scowled, and muttered something under his breath. "Forget about this... just practice. Flint, Warrington... aarrrghh!"

            Cass frowned slightly, entirely baffled now. What was _wrong_ with him? Was it normal for a man who supposedly loved a woman... and told her such... to then yell at her like she was the most hateful bint in the world, the very next day? Was he... was he _sorry_ for saying that? Just what...

            Thankfully for Oliver's frazzled nerves and Cass's confused thoughts, Harry caught the snitch about ten minutes later, and the practice ended. Cass, bemused and quiet, took her customary quick shower in the locker room and then silently Apparated to the tent that she and Skyler shared.

            Skyler was not there at the moment, probably still on the pitch, and Cass, at the moment, was somewhat glad.

            She needed time to think... and what was the matter with Oliver anyway?

            _Did_ he love her?

*          *          *

            Oliver Wood was, in fact, at the men's locker room at the moment, having a conniption of gargantuan proportions at Carl Warrington.

            _"What the DEVIL do you think you're doing?!"_ Wood snapped, not caring if anyone heard. Warrington looked at him in frank puzzlement.

            "For once, I _haven't_ done anything," the Slytherin said slowly, "What are you going on about?"

            "You... you... Ca—Flint..." Oliver's voice was almost shaking with anger, and still, Warrington was confused.

            "Honestly, Wood... we weren't doing anything wrong or against the rule... for Slytherins like us, what more can you expect?"

            The jibe only seemed to make Oliver even more furious. "You! Last night! _Shagging_ her! How _could_ you do such a thing?! I... there's the final game against Spain coming up, and you're _shagging_ another player! That... that's _bad!_" The excuse sounded tenuous even to his own ears, but Oliver was beyond caring at the moment. He hated Warrington. The _bastard_.

            Warrington rolled his eyes, "What's wrong with shagging another player? I fail to see your point... it's not like I'd be so careless as to impregnate someone... but moreover, I _didn't_ shag Cass. Nor do I intend to. What in the world are you going on about?"

            Oliver blinked. _What?!_ But... he _heard_ the two talking in the morning... and she came out of his tent... and... "You aren't shagging her, and yet you keep her in your tent overnight! If you like a girl, you should at least remain _faithful_ to her!"

            "What in the world makes you think that I like Cass that way?" Warrington frowned at the other man, "She's like a sister to me! I would no sooner shag her than those Weasley twits who used to play under you would shag _their_ sister... that's a completely sick-making idea! Ugh, I would never contemplate getting involved in _that_ way with Cass... just because she went to my tent doesn't mean that I _shagged_ her... she merely talked with me for a while, then fell asleep... Merlin, you Gryffindors and your ridiculous jumping-to-conclusions..." Warrington rolled his eyes.

            Oliver found himself face-faulting. He... what was he _supposed_ to think, seeing Cass come out of Warrington's tent at dawn? But Warrington's face showed that he was telling the truth. He blinked, and then blurted out, "Ah, so you won't be shagging Ca—er, anyone?"

            Warrington looked at him for a moment, then smirked, "I will not be shagging _Cass_... she's all yours, Wood. But don't expect me to make any vows of chastity." With that last jibe, Warrington strode out of the locker room, to see Skyler Zabini leaning against the wall, her head cocked to the side, looking at him curiously.

            "Hello, Sky," he greeted. She raised an eyebrow at the nickname, then smirked at him.

            "Quite the ladies man, aren't you?" she asked lightly, "Who _are_ you intending on shagging, if not Cass?"

            Warrington grinned, and advanced on her. She didn't move, and found herself pinned against the wall, with him standing toe to toe with her. He raised a large, callused hand towards her head, delicately twining a few strands of her dark hair in his fingers. "Wouldn't you like to know."

            She gave him a sidelong glance, and quirked her lip, "I _am_ rather curious who the lady is... although I'm not sure if I should congratulate her or condole her... but who gave you permission to play with my hair?"

            Warrington raised an eyebrow, then put on a mock-tragic expression, "What, Skyler Zabini, are you saying that I have to..." he winced, "_Ask nicely_ or something?"

            Skyler gave a bell-like laugh, and lightly slapped his hand away from her hair, "And if I am?"

            He glowered at her, then sighed deeply, "Fine... _fine_..." he grimaced, "For _you_... and you only... and only on very special occasions... Skyler Zabini, may I play with your hair?"

            Skyler giggled, even as she felt a blush rising in her cheeks, "You might need a little practice at that," she informed him archly.

            Carl Warrington stared at the young woman pinned against the wall, her face rosy; her violet eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth. She was not making any effort to move. Growling, he moved his hand back to her face, cupping her chin. "Sod niceness," he muttered before firmly pressing his lips against hers, his other hand coming to rest on her hip.

            She stiffened, but only for a brief moment, before leaning into the kiss, allowing him to work her lips open with his. Her strong, slender hands raised up to his shoulders, and clutched him for a moment before twining around his neck. His hands clamped down on her waist, pulling her closer, and only later, when they both needed air, did they separate.

            Slowly, she opened her eyes, and then, she spoke to him, her voice somewhat breathless, "I didn't say you could do that."

            He rolled his eyes, "Yes, silly me... how _could_ I have forgotten? Snogging back, and quite enthusiastically at that, is the universal 'sod off' sign... my memory must have failed me..." he retorted mockingly.

            She shook her head, and grinned at him. And then, she slowly slid one hand back up to his shoulder, and purred lowly in his ear, "Shall I tell you to sod off again?"

            He smirked, "By all means."

            "Sod off," she said immediately, then snickered at his flabbergasted expression. "Oh, that was priceless... you should have seen how comical you looked..." 

            "Sky..."

            "Yes?"

            "You are a thing of beauty and a joy forever, but you talk too much."

            "You will have to do something about that, won't you?" she said pertly.

            "Yes..."

            When Oliver Wood emerged from the locker room about fifteen minutes later, he was greeted by the sight of Carl Warrington and Skyler Zabini, the former pinning the latter against the wall, and the two seemingly surgically attached at the tongues.

            Wood shook his head and walked away. He... didn't... know.

            But... at least Warrington was not with Cass. Whatever else he did, was his business. Oliver didn't care.

*~*~*~*

Yes! Warrington and Sky get some action! Don't worry, I promise that eventually, Oliver and Cass will come to their senses. Eventually.


	16. Outcome The First

**NOTES:**

            And we have the final game! But before that, the outcome of a bet…

**DEDICATION:**

            To my Fidelius gang. :;muah!::

**DISCLAIMER:**

            Warrington is Skyler's bitch for the purposes of this fic. He shall be returned to Thalia in _hopefully_ mint condition. And Thalia, because she's ebil, shall then hold him for ransom and not return him to JKR. ::Bwahahahahaha::

*~*~*~*

            The subsequent week of practices passed with much anxiety; Oliver and Cass did not speak to each other at all. Silently, the two worked with the rest of the team, perfecting their strategies in preparation for the final game against Spain.

            Their mutual discomfort was palpable, and though this in itself wasn't quite unusual, the other players felt a vague sense that their tension had changed. No longer was Cass picking fights with Oliver, or vice versa. All the snarky exchanged had been replaced by a heavy, uneasy silence.

            Besides the rather fed-up Carl Warrington and a somewhat discontented Skyler Zabini, no one seemed to know what precisely had happened between their Captain and the female Slytherin Chaser.

            "I am going to lose that wager," Skyler addressed Carl two days before the game, "Those two, stubborn, _dense_ idiots, are not going to shag."

            "Oh, they are, I'm sure…" Warrington said firmly, "Just… a bit delayed, is all."

            Skyler turned her head and looked at him, her body shifting slightly from her position in his lap. She had a dejected pout on her face, although her eyes were glinting with mischief, "How very _sad_… If I _do_ lose the bet, I'm going to have to do whatever you wish… for a whole day. Very mortifying."

            He grinned, "Scared, are you?"

            "Not really," Skyler said promptly, "Just rather humiliated… _sod_ Cass and Wood for being such pig-headed idiots…"

            He laughed, and rolled his eyes slightly, "Oh, _them_… well, what can you say? They're rather in denial, uncertain of what to do, and have a bad tendency to try to postpone the inevitable."

            "I suppose… silly people…"

            "Very silly indeed," he agreed, as he planted a kiss at her temple. She leaned against him for a moment; then pulled away to look him in the eye, half-amused, half-serious.

            "Well, what will you have me do? As it is less than 48 hours before the game, and those two are nowhere _near _shagging."

            Warrington looked at her for a long moment, and then, to her surprise, he shrugged lightly and grinned at her. "Do what you will… I'm sure you can think of something."

            "I'm surprised, really… you're not making me do anything too embarrassing."

            "Ah well… I just feel astonishingly benevolent towards you for some reason or another… it's _most_ interesting and vexing, really."

            "Git."

            "You better believe it," he smirked. She smirked back; then stood up from where she'd been sitting on his lap. 

            "Well… I'll pay you tomorrow, then."

*          *          *

            The evening before the game against Spain, the English All-Star team trained harder than they'd ever done before. Even the most uncomfortable members of the team put aside any personal issues, and nothing was done or thought of but Quidditch.

            By the time the practice was concluded, it was eight o'clock in the evening. The team was tired; they had trained since two in the afternoon, with a brief break of half an hour at six to eat. So, after they had dismounted, the players all went to the locker rooms to shower, and go to their tents and turn in for the night. There would be a game the next day, and everyone needed his or her beauty sleep.

            Skyler Zabini had given Carl Warrington a 'Stay behind and wait for me' look before going into the women's locker room after Cass.

            So, he waited.

            Cass came out about ten minutes after she'd gone in, given him a half-hearted, somewhat absent wave, before she walked off towards the tent that she and Skyler shared.

            Fifteen minutes… twenty… twenty-five… and finally, the door to the locker room opened, and Skyler emerged, humming slightly to herself as she rubbed her damp hair with a towel. Making her… not-completely-buttoned robe shift in such a way that… all right, perhaps he shouldn't stare at anything but her face.

            She smiled beatifically when she saw him, and the grin turned mischievous when his eyes widened as she walked closer. "Having a good evening?" she purred softly.

            He nodded, and she smirked at him before planting a lightning-fast, light kiss on his lips. But before he could respond, she had pulled back, and was steadily backing away from him, her eyebrows quirked. 

            He scowled at her, stepping forward with every step she took back, "Tease."

            "Horny male," she retorted, and continued walking away from him. He followed, growling as she giggled.

            "Oh, dear… we seem to have reached a tent," she said a few moments later, the back of her leg brushing one of the wooden poles.

            "That's my tent," he stated.

            "Oh… so it is," she grinned, then stepped up to him, "You seem to have… cornered me."

            "You _planned_ this, and you know it," he muttered, then smirked, "Not that I'm objecting, by any means…"

            The moon rose in the sky, and the shadow of two forms, standing by one tent, melded together. She finally allowed him to kiss her, for real and completely, at that time, and the two just stood there, holding each other, for a few moments. And then, the young woman gave a little shriek as the man picked her up in his arms and threw her over his shoulder, striding into the tent.

            "Put me down, you swarthy git," Skyler laughed, her upper body hanging over his shoulder, his arms supporting her. He laughed, a deep chuckle, as he continued forward further into the tent, ignoring her protests and the flailing of her slim, muscular arms.

            "Oh, believe me I will put you down soon enough… bed's only about ten feet ahead," he said lowly. "Although… if this is how you're paying up for that wager… well, I don't know if I will be satisfied with this… just the once…" He threw her down, albeit gently, on the bed, and drew her into his arms, looking at her expectantly.

            She gave him a coy smile. "Demanding, demanding… Oh, I'm sure that we can work something out…" she said softly before twining her arms around his neck and pulling his lips down to hers.

*          *          *

            The day of the Quidditch World Cup dawned bright and sunny, and Skyler awoke feeling delightfully languid yet rested. There was a rather ticklish sensation on her bare upper back, and she opened her eyes, violet meeting brown and locking. 

            "Good morning, you," she said, stretching lazily, before adding teasingly, "Had a good night's sleep?"

            He smirked, and moved his hand up from her back to her shoulder, playing with a strand of her hair, "The parts of it that I _did_ sleep, sure… but if you will recall, _sleep_ didn't happen much…"

            "True enough," she acknowledged, "How long have you been awake?"

            "A while," he said simply, "You were smiling in your sleep."

            "Oh, really?" she said saucily, "Fancy that…"

            "Need a cold shower, perhaps?" he asked mischievously. She gave him a mock-glare, and swatted him on the shoulder.

            "Now, now… _you_ were the one who almost forgot the charm that time… what if I hadn't remembered it? That might be bad, you know…" her voice was half-scolding, but her eyes were serious. "Carl…"

            "I know," he said lowly in her ear, "If something like _that_ had happened, I promise that you wouldn't have to deal with the consequences alone."

            She quirked an eyebrow mockingly at him, though her eyes gleamed, "Why, are you actually implying that you would act in a _responsible_ fashion?"

            "It happens every once in a great while," he chuckled, "In any case, I would have to be there to personally ensure the corruption of my own offspring."

            "I am very glad indeed that we _did_ perform the charm… little Warrington sproglets… _scary_ thought…" Skyler muttered to herself, "I should probably get going, though… before Cass or someone starts looking for me…"

            He nodded, and watched silently as she donned her Quidditch robes, putting her hair up with a spell. "I'll see you later."

            "Soon," he amended, taking one of her hands and bringing the fingertips to his lips. "Good luck out there today."

            "You too." And quietly, she slipped out.

*          *          *

            Skyler strode into her tent just as Cass had finished putting on the blue outer-robe of the English Quidditch uniform. The Chaser was rather taciturn, almost melancholy, and raised an eyebrow when Skyler walked in, grinning ear to ear.

            "Good morning, Cass," Skyler greeted her merrily, "Ready for the game?"

            "You're back… you've been out all night."

            "Yes," Skyler smiled at the other woman, "Sleep well?"

            "What were you doing all night?"

            Skyler grinned hugely, "Don't you mean '_Who_ were you doing all night?' Carl. Warrington."

            Cass stared, eyes wide as saucers, "You… were… Warrington and you… _why?!_"

            "Because we wanted to," Skyler said candidly.

            "You… and him…"

            "Yes, we're together," Skyler said gently, "And… smart-arsed attitude aside, I quite like him. Well, come to think of it, the attitude is entertaining as well."

            Cass shook her head, "Besotted… never thought I'd see the day."

            "Oh, stranger things can happen," Skyler said briskly, "I'm sure that I will live to see far stranger couples than Carl and myself. But… we should get going, hmm?

            "Yes… yes, of course," Cass said quickly. Quietly, she followed the younger woman out of the tent and to the locker room.

            Well… Skyler was happy. And although she, Cass, had no idea what the Beater saw in Warrington… she supposed that she should be glad for her friend. Both her friends.

            And she was. Love was a glorious, splendid thing…

            Pfft… like _she_ would know.

            Maybe she did… _maybe_.

            Okay… so maybe it wasn't always glorious and splendid. Figures.

            Shaking her head to clear the confused, muddled thoughts, she went to join the rest of the team, avoiding looking at… someone, and waited for the signal words from the announcer that would cue for them to fly out.

            _"Welcome to the Quidditch World Cup! This is it, ladies and gentlemen, the final game, between the English and Spanish teams! This should be an exciting game, and no one knows what the outcome will be! For the Spanish team, we have De Las Casas! De Luna! De Oro! Lucia! Rodriguez! San Josefina! Aaaand, SANCHEZ!"_

            They could hear the crowds cheering, and then, the announcer spoke again.

            _"For the English team, we have Cornfoot! Flint! Warrington! Whitby! Wood! Aaaand, POTTER!"_

            They flew out, and Cass took position in the air between Warrington and Cornfoot, and watched as Oliver landed in the middle of the pitch to shake hands with the Spanish captain, Beater Pedro Rodriguez.

            The men shook hands, and then took to the air.

            The bludgers and snitch were released. And then, the referee, a fierce-looking woman strangely reminiscent of Madam Hooch, took the Quaffle and threw it into the air.

            And the game began…

*~*~*~*

And the game shall be described in the next chapter! This fic is on its last legs of the journey ~_^!! Review!!


	17. Outcome The Second

**NOTES:**

            Yes… the Quidditch game! W00bieness abounds as our favorite people play the Spanish team!

**DEDICATION:**

            To Kate, because she is awesome and helped me with naming, because I suck at it.

**DISCLAIMER:**

            They were brought to me, wrapped in red ribbons, for Chinese New Year. Right…

*~*~*~*

            The Spanish all-star team was the best that that nation had seen for years. Pedro Rodriguez, their captain, was an enthusiastic, dignified man of about thirty years of age. He had not only skill, but great nationalistic pride in his team and country. 

            One of their Chasers, Paco De Las Casas, immediately got into a grapple for the Quaffle at the start of the game. Both him and Cass had shot forward at the same moment to grab the red ball out of the air as the referee had released it. Eventually, Cass had emerged victorious, and had made off with it towards the goal posts, where Keeper Maria Lucia waited.

            She managed to score, narrowly swerving out of the way of a bludger aimed at her head, but Spanish Chaser Mercedes San Josefina caught the red ball on the rebound, and determinedly flew forward with it in possession, in order to make the second shot of the game and even out the score.

            San Josefina dodged the attempts of Cornfoot to capture the Quaffle, as well as a bludger from Whitby, and threw the Quaffle at the center goal hoop. Oliver managed to save it at the last minute, and threw it into Warrington's waiting arms. The Slytherin Chaser made off with it, and wove in and out of various Spanish players to reach Cornfoot; then the two passed it back and forth in coordinated movements until they had come within twenty feet of Cass, who was waiting at the Spanish end of the field.

            Warrington gave Cass a look, and the other Slytherin Chaser nodded briefly. The young man pretended to fumble, tossing the ball forward and slightly downward, and Cass flew towards him, somersaulting on her broom and catching the Quaffle upside down. The maneuver was quite difficult, rarely attempted... but the two had liked to work with it when they'd played together in their schooldays. And a bludger hit by Guillermo De Oro whizzed by harmlessly, where her head would have been had she not been upside down on the broom.

            By then, Steven Cornfoot, figuring out the move, had zoomed forward, and was in the scoring area. Cass turned and passed to him, and he managed to score the second shot of the game.

            Catalina De Luna, Spanish Chaser, captured the Quaffle on the rebound, and along with Paco De Las Casas and Mercedes San Josefina, went into Hawkshead Attacking Formation. Dodging bludgers right and left, the Spanish Chasers managed to score.

            The two teams were really about evenly matched, and in the next hour, the game was simply a battle back and forth, for the Quaffle. Sometimes the English team would have it, and sometimes the Spanish. Both Keepers would pull of spectacular saves, while the Chasers on both sides would also score brilliant shots. Within the next hour, the score was 50:40, after Warrington had put another rather difficult shot past Lucia.

            So far, to Oliver's pleasant astonishment, neither teams had fouled; _his_ team had played according to the rules, and even the Slytherins that he had a natural inclination to... worry about, were playing a fair, clean game. The Spanish team, too... they were enthusiastic, certainly, but also seemed too proud to do something such as resort to dirty tactics. Oliver was immeasurably grateful.

            He watched as Cass, dark hair whipping in the wind, one hand firmly on her broom handle, the other with the Quaffle in possession, shot off, a whoosh of blue robes, towards the goal posts again. Skyler Zabini was trailing behind her teammate, Beater club in one hand, and when Paco De Las Casas shot towards Cass to intercept the Quaffle, the female Beater pelted a bludger at his head. De Las Casas ducked and the bludger passed over his head, but that second was enough for Cass to score again. Oliver smiled.

            She was really a damn fine player. 

            Then, he shook his head, clearing it of the unruly thoughts. She... didn't love him. But then... he had been a prat, yelling at her and Warrington for no reason... he sighed, and told himself to concentrate on the game, not a moment too soon, for De Luna was coming at him with the Quaffle.

            And at the last moment, just as he was bracing himself for a shot, a blue blur cut off De Luna, and Cass had gotten the Quaffle once again. The two Chasers seemed to have a small battle of their own, fighting for the red ball and for superiority as both tried to make off and score again.

            In the end, the Spanish Chaser was victorious, as Rodriguez helpfully hit a bludger at Cass, and Catalina De Luna used that moment to capture the Quaffle.

            De Luna scored, and Cass flew forward to catch it on the rebound. She didn't have anything rebuking to say to Oliver this time, for not making the save, much to the latter's surprise. It _couldn't_ have been that she had not realized that the Spanish had scored again.

            Cass was, in fact, too busy reprimanding herself for a moment's distraction to scold him. She had managed to intercept the Quaffle from De Luna, well aware of Wood's eyes on her back. Her thoughts had immediately gone to him, and that one moment was all it took for the Spanish captain to force her to drop the Quaffle.

            Sod distraction... but... to be fair, it wasn't Wood's _fault_...

            She found that she couldn't automatically blame him, and didn't know whether to be vexed, or gratified about that fact.

            She caught it, and passed it to a nearby Steven Cornfoot, who zoomed off with it, Kevin Whitby covering for him as De Las Casas went forward in an attempt to intercept it. Steven passed it back to Cass, who passed it back to him, and at the last moment, the Ravenclaw scored.

            Catalina De Luna caught the Quaffle on the rebound, and flew off in the opposite direction with it, passing it about halfway down the field to Mercedes San Josefina.

Warrington punched the Quaffle out of San Josefina's arms, and Cass shot forward to join him, automatically participating in the Porskoff Ploy as they endeavored to score again. It was successful, and Warrington scored. And so, the score was 80:50, in the first two hours minutes of the game, in favor of the English team.

            San Josefina made another shot for the Spanish, and the gap between the scores lessened, the Spanish supporters cheering in the background. Cass captured the Quaffle again, and practically spinning in continual somersaults on her broom to avoid the intercepting arms of the Spanish Chasers and the bludgers hit by the Spanish Beaters, she managed to get the Quaffle to Warrington once again.

            Warrington shot forward with it. Built differently than Cass, he was not so much for aerial acrobatics, but depended more on his superior size and strength rather than limber agility to keep the Quaffle in possession. Guillermo De Oro hit a bludger at him, as Paco De Las Casas flew to his other side in an effort to steal the Quaffle.

            "I don't _think_ so," Skyler Zabini said in a deceptively cheerful, almost sing-song voice, shooting off towards the bludger hit by De Oro and altering its trajectory with a swipe of her bat. De Las Casas narrowly avoided getting hit in the midsection, and Warrington's path was clear to score once again.

            _"90:60, Warrington scores for England!"_ the Commentator announced, and as Steven captured the Quaffle on the rebound, Warrington smirked and blew Skyler a kiss.

            Steven scored again, and English supporters, whistling and cheering for Warrington and Skyler, broke into applause once again.

            Mercedes San Josefina captured the Quaffle on the rebound this time, and shot off in the opposite direction. And then, as she was about halfway across the field, the crowd gasped as Harry Potter and Miguel Sanchez suddenly dived towards the Commentator stand.

            The Golden Snitch had appeared.

            San Josefina, uncaring of the fact that the Seekers had gone in pursuit of the snitch, continued towards the goal posts, weaving in and out of other players. Cass, who had been at about midfield when San Josefina had caught the Quaffle on the rebound, immediately went towards the English goals as well, in defensive mode.

            Pedro Rodriguez, watching carefully, saw San Josefina pass into the scoring area, and hit a bludger at Wood.

            Wood braced for impact, intent on saving the shot rather than ducking the bludger and allowing San Josefina to score.

            But impact... of the bludger... never came.

            There was the sickening crunch of a bludger hitting and breaking a bone, then a scream of pain, immediately drowned out by the roar of the crowds as Harry Potter caught the snitch.

            And _then_ there was impact. Oliver all of the sudden found a figure in blue falling towards him.

            Cass. _Cass_?! She had shielded him.

            And then, it made sense. She had cut right in front of him, just as San Josefina had thrown the Quaffle, and the red ball had glanced off her arm, a split second before the bludger had hit her.

            Just as Harry had captured the snitch.

            Cass was hurting badly, her right arm useless, the bone broken where the bludger had impacted. She swayed on her broom, trying to keep from falling off, but the pain was blinding... she felt herself leaning dangerously backward... wondering if anyone had noticed, with the Seekers...

            She would fall...

            But she didn't, and instead found her wobbling form caught around the waist, and the whoosh of air as she was flown to the ground. The pain was increasing at every second, and gradually, the world seemed to fall away... there were a pair of warm, brown, familiar eyes, dark with worry, staring into hers.

            "Cass..." Oliver said urgently, pulling the girl onto his own broom and flying off with her towards the mediwizard tent, completely unheeding anything else around him, including the referee flying behind him telling him to go accept the World Cup that he and his team had won after so much work. All his attention was focused on the injured woman in his arms, her face pale with pain, her eyes wide, her hair tangled with the wind. Her good arm was wrapped around him, clinging to him as he flew off with her.

            And the last thing she did before losing consciousness from the pain, was give him a small smile.

            He dropped her off at the mediwizard tent, and the referee, clucking disapprovingly, dragged him off.

            Their team had won the Cup.

            But she was not there to share it... to be passed the trophy as all the other held for a moment.

            Oliver _was_ glad for the victory, but at the moment, it didn't seem to have impacted him yet.

            Or perhaps, his heart was elsewhere.

*~*~*~*

w00t! They won! They won!! And I promise... Oliver and Cass _will_ work things out and start snogging soon! Really! 


	18. Fraternal Love

**NOTES:**

            Marcus happiness shall ensue! Altercations are fun, because I am evil like that.

**DEDICATION:**

            To Alice and Kimmie, for all the ebil plotting that has gone on today, that will make life so much more interesting soon!!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            If I rode Warrington's broomstick, my boyfriend would be very unhappy. Not to mention a certain Zabini might take it into her head to crack my skull open with a bludger. Alas…

*~*~*~*

            The all-star team, methodically sending the reserve players to answer any and all inquiries and reporters in regards to the game, their win, etc… was gathered at the nearby magical hospital, in the waiting room, anxiously awaiting news of Cass's injury.

            The door to the waiting room suddenly slammed open, and before anyone could really see what was going on, Oliver Wood was bodily hauled out of his chair, and shaken roughly on the shoulders.

            _"WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SISTER, YOU GRYFFINDOR BASTARD?!?"_

            And then the roaring, shaking menace was pulled off him, and a snappish female voice called out.

            "I _think_ it was quite apparent that it was a bludger that hit Cass, and not Wood."

            Oliver's mind finally kicked into gear. The one who had dragged him out of his seat and screamed in his face was none other than Cass's brother, Marcus Flint. Probably his least favorite person in the world… and the one who had pulled Flint off of him was Flint's wife, formerly Karen Bletchley. Flint was red-faced with rage, and Bletchley… well; Flint's wife… was rolling her eyes slightly and giving him a rather wry look.

            A rather harangued-looking Skyler Zabini gave them both a gentle shove towards the door. "Look… they're going to kick us out if you two brawl in here. Take it to the hall, will you? And while you're at it… when you two _are_ fighting, try to not knock over any wandering patients, hmm?"

            Both men made as if to protest, and the female Beater continued impatiently, "I promise to cast _Ennervate_ on the two of you after you beat each other unconscious… when they say that you can go see her. Now… leave and don't come back until you've _both_ worked off the testosterone."

            Skyler and Karen exchanged a wry smile, and the latter followed her husband and her husband's main rival out the door.

            As soon as the two men were out in the hall, Marcus Flint sailed right back in again, indignation on every feature, a scowl of fury on his face. _"How DARE you not take care of my sister, Wood?! She was a member of your fucking team!! It's all your bloody fault that she's injured!!"_

            Karen shook her head and sighed, tugging on Marcus's arm and trying to pull him away from Wood, "Marcus, Cass is _your_ sister. You should know better than to think that she would allow anyone to 'take care' of her in that way, being the recipient of many tirades from her for that very offense."

            _"That's beside the point!"_ Marcus raged, _"My sister is injured and it's all his fault!!"_

            "Boy, aren't _we_ sounding mature today…" Karen muttered, "Look here… as much as it pains me to say this of a Gryffindor, it's not exactly Wood's fault that Cass got in the way of that bludger."

            Oliver watched the Slytherin couple for a brief moment, and then he snapped. _"Look, Flint, do you think I didn't TRY to take care of her as far as she would let me?! Do you think I want to see her hurt?! Goddammit, I LOVE HER!"_

            And then there was silence.

            If their angry shouts had been noisy and disruptive before, this deafening silence was far more disturbing.

            Karen was the first to speak up. Eyebrows reached up to her hairline, her mouth was a little slack, but she addressed Wood with all the aplomb of a born Slytherin. Well, given that she was utterly astonished, she kept her cool composure rather well.

            "Well then… Ah… I don't know whether to congratulate you or to feel sorry for you, Wood. Er… good luck?"

            Unlike Karen, Marcus was a completely different story. Not in that he wasn't also entirely shocked and stunned that his rival and arch-nemesis of many, many years just confessed to being in love with his sister, but…

            _"WHAT?! You… you miserable sodding BASTARD!! How DARE you love my sister?! What gives you the RIGHT to do such a presumptuous thing?! You… you…"_

_            "Do you think I WANTED to?"_ Oliver snapped. _"She… she MADE me!"_

            "Again, I would like to remark upon the maturity level of you two…" Karen grumbled, "Men… let's not argue over whether or not he has a right to love Cass… that's not exactly _either_ of you two's decision, now is it? Actually, don't answer that. Rhetorical question. Anyway, Cass herself flew in the line of fire. Whatever reason she did that… that's her business, hmm? And shouldn't the two of you at least _pretend_ to put aside your little 'whose is bigger' petty competition, as both of you apparently love Cass, and this is more about _her_ than about you two?"

            A sensible woman, that Karen Bletchley…

            The door opened, and Skyler's face appeared, along with the whiskery face of the mediwizard. "Only relatives at this time."

            Despite his wife's quelling stare, Marcus Flint was not above giving Oliver Wood a triumphant sort of smirk as he strode in to see his sister.

*          *          *

            Cass was sitting up in bed, her arm in a loose sling. The fractured bone had been repaired with a wave of the mediwizard's wand, but it was protocol to have her remain in the hospital for another day, just to make sure that it healed properly.

            "What in the _devil_ were you…?"

            "Marcus, I'm not in the mood for that right now. Spare me, please…" Cass said quietly. "I know that you want to know why I did such a thing, and what the hell I was thinking… and frankly, I can't give you an answer to that. And yes, I know it was reckless. Sod that… and no, I do _not _want to be lectured about this."

            Marcus Flint looked at his sister, lying in bed, once _again_ due to a Quidditch injury. They'd had this scene several times before. Heaven knew… this was the basis for almost all of their arguments and clashes. Cass had the determination to win at any cost of a Slytherin… with a disturbingly Gryffindor streak of pure recklessness.

            Their parents had hated it. And he had been immeasurably bothered by it… the combination was not a good one.

            Or so it had seemed.

            And what the devil was Wood… Oliver WOOD of all people, going about saying that he loved her?

            Something was rather enormously alarming about the whole picture… and why was Cass being so quiet? Sure… as always, she told him to stuff the lecture… but there was no yelling.

            What had changed her? Wood? Oliver bloody _Wood?!_

            "Fine. I won't lecture you," he ground out. Not at the moment, anyway. "Although I _am_ curious why you did that. Block that bludger, that is…"

            "Does it matter?" Cass hedged, "I bloody felt like it, okay?"

            "Why are you avoiding the question? And why was Oliver bloody Wood carrying you around when he was _supposed_ to be getting that bloody cup?" Actually, he _knew_ why… disturbing as it was. But did Cass? 

            "What do you mean, why?" Cass muttered, not meeting his eyes, "Damned if I know…"

            "Why is Wood so… so _protective_ of you?"

            "Why do you care?" Cass frowned. She almost preferred the _other_ lectures to… to this. She… did not want to answer any of these questions. And… she herself didn't even know what to say.

            "Well forgive me sister for being curious that the one bloke who is as obsessed with Quidditch as _you_ are… captaining a team that wins the bloody World Cup… suddenly doesn't _care_ about going to get the cup… but rather to bring you to a mediwizard… now, not that I wouldn't have done the same thing, but he's not your brother… and then, with you going and blocking a bludger for him… what the hell am I supposed to think?!"

            _"I don't bloody know, okay?"_ Cass snapped, "I don't _know_ why he's like that… and I don't _know_ why I did that… it just _happened!_ Will you stop giving me a hard time over this? It's none of your damned business anyway!"

            "What's going on between you and Wood? Just tell me that, Cass…" Marcus said stolidly, staring at his sister, who for once refused to meet his eyes.

            "I _told_ you… I don't know!" Cass whispered.

            "Do you love him?" Marcus queried, frowning, not sure whether he should fear her answer.

            "W-what?" Cass stuttered, "W-where did you get that idea?"

            "Answer the question, Cass."

            "Why do you care?"

            "Let's pretend I don't," Marcus snapped, his patience wearing very thin indeed with his sister's evasiveness. Cass was never one to run from anything… tangible dangers _or_ uncomfortable questions. "Stop dodging and just tell me, dammit!"

            "I… what if I did, huh? What if I did love him? What're you going to say to _that?_" Cass blurted out, her words a rush, "Not that that's any of your _business_, of course. But _if_ I did, what's that to you?"

            All right… so he _wouldn't_ have a chance to tell Wood just where to shove his presumptuous affections. Damn.

            "I…" Marcus paused, not knowing just what to say. Cass was looking at him challengingly, as if daring him to say something negative. But there was a hint of something in her eyes… that prevented him from blowing up. Something almost childlike: a need for his… blessing, almost, and he didn't know quite what to say. 

            "Just… forget about it," Cass said softly, looking away with a scowl. Hell if her brother would understand… he didn't even appreciate her love of Quidditch, or agree to her playing the sport. It would be completely unfeasible for the two of them ever to have any common ground. She looked down, scowling somewhat.

            Marcus sighed, and then did something that he had not done since the two of them had been kids, and she had started out at Hogwarts. Striding over to her bedside, he gave her a brief, unceremonious hug.

            "Good game, Cass. Bloody reckless and wild… and don't _ever _think of doing that again… but… good game."

            Cass gave him a small, wry smile as he pulled away. "Thanks. I'll try to remember that."

            Marcus nodded, then frowned to himself, "Oliver Wood… of all people…"

            "Shut up."

            "Fine… _fine_…" Marcus scowled, "That doesn't mean I have to like it. And that _certainly_ doesn't mean that I won't kill him with my bare hands if he so much as…"

            "Marcus, _I_ would kill him before you had a chance, if he hurt me," Cass cut him off. 

            Marcus nodded reluctantly, and walked towards the door. "Er… the others probably want to see you."

            Cass nodded; then looked down, "That's fine… except… I don't want to see Oliver yet. Tell him… _politely_."

            "Fine… fine…" Marcus rolled his eyes, and strode out of the hospital room once more.

*          *          *

            The moment Marcus opened the door of Cass's room, the others in the waiting room jumped to their feet and rushed towards him. Marcus quickly got out of the way, and the throng that was the all-star team, the reserves, and the rest of the Holyhead Harpies, piled into the hospital room to see Cass.

            Oliver was among the group, but Marcus Flint implacably shoved him back down in his seat.

            "She doesn't want to see you, Wood," the Slytherin couldn't help but sneer a little at Oliver's put out expression. The two men glared at each other for a moment, and then the Slytherin spoke up, his voice gruff and blunt.

            "You hurt my sister… you so much as hurt one sodding hair on her head, and I will kill you."

            And before Oliver Wood could reply, Marcus strode out without a backwards glance. Karen lingered for a moment after, and gave Oliver an almost-sympathetic wry smile, before following her husband out the door.

            Oliver sat back down in the now-empty waiting room.

            All right…… so now what?

*~*~*~*

REVIEW!!


	19. Bracelets and Broomsheds

**NOTES:**

            Yes. I will have mercy on the two ickle sods. After all, this fic is very, very close to completion.

**DEDICATION:**

            To Angela. For no other reason besides the fact that she _completely_ rocks.

**DISCLAIMER:**

            Oliver belongs to Cass. Cass belongs to me. So logically, one should be able to conclude that Oliver therefore also belongs to me. Unfortunately, things don't work that way. 

*~*~*~*

            Cass refused to let Oliver visit her at all during her hospital stay. _Sure_, the rest of the all-star team, the reserves, and her Harpies teammates were able to visit... but _he_ was barred.

            He supposed that it was his fault.

            After all, he hadn't exactly been nice when he'd told her how he felt, and then... that whole incident with thinking that she was with Warrington, he'd taken out his anger and resentment in an inappropriate way. He'd been a selfish prat.

            Love was a strange thing... one would think that ideally, it would be selfless. And even if Cass _had_ been involved with Warrington, he, Oliver Wood, would have wished her the best because he loved her and wanted her to be happy. 

            But it wasn't that simple. Love was selfish. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. But only, _only_ if that happiness meant him.

            Nevertheless, even knowing that it was his fault... didn't mean that he could easily accept that. Or that he felt no resentment about the fact that he was being so egregiously excluded.

            Idly, he wondered if Marcus Flint had had anything to do with Cass's decision to avoid him.

            But that wouldn't quite make sense. He knew what she was like. If she were inclined to do something, no one could stop her. Flint would not have been able to prevent her from seeing him if she wanted to.

            Which meant, of course, that she _didn't_ in fact want to see him.

            Oliver Apparated away from the hospital and spent the rest of the night sulking by himself in his tent.

*          *          *

            Cass was declared healthy and fit to be released that morning from the hospital. Skyler Zabini went over to help her teammate and friend pack her things, and also to talk.

            The younger woman walked into Cass's room just as the nurse had finished checking the Chaser's arm for any remaining problems. Skyler gave her friend a smile, and sat down by her bed.

            "How're you feeling, Cass?"

            "All right, I guess," Cass replied, moving her arm back and forth experimentally, "Arm seems to be all right."

            "Indeed it does," Skyler said briskly, grabbing a nearby stack of get-well cards from fans who had been at the game, and putting them away in a backpack with a wave of her wand. "Oh, just so you know, Wood's rather put out that you refuse to see him."

            Cass blinked, "You've talked to Ol—Wood?"

            "Oh, no," Skyler shook her head, "But he's been pouting all morning. And likely all last evening too… wouldn't really know. He refused to come with us to celebrate the victory. Now _that_'s a first if there ever was one."     

            "Oh!" Cass gave a soft exclamation, not knowing what to say… what to _think_. Skyler gave her a shrewd, piercing look.

            "Well, let's get going. We're going to Port-key out this evening. Should probably close camp and all." The Beater extended a hand to Cass, to pull her out of the bed. Cass took it, then paused.

            "What's that on your wrist?" She looked down, and saw the glitter of something silver. Pulling Skyler's hand up to her face to see it more closely, she stared, then laughed.

            "A _name-bracelet_ engraved with the words 'Skyler Warrington'?"

            Skyler chuckled, "Well, _I_ certainly was not the one who got this."

            "Warrington gave that to you?" Cass laughed, "What a _git_!"

            "I found it rather amusing… although, to be sure, that he'd have the presumption to do such a thing… but he said that within the next year, I would be changing my name to that if he had anything to say about it. The very idea! _He_ should change _his_ name to Zabini, _I_ think."

            "I hope you hit him for that," Cass smirked.

            "Oh, of course."

            "And of course, presumption and smarminess notwithstanding, you still shagged him. Again." Cass said in a deadpan voice.

            "That too," Skyler said breezily, "Ah well… I can always get him a collar that says 'Skyler's bitch' for Christmas. But we should get going, hmm?"

*          *          *

            Cass was greeted by a grinning team when she and Skyler had Apparated back to their encampment. Steven Cornfoot, Kevin Whitby and Harry Potter, being the nice, non-Slytherin people that they were, merely smiled at her, congratulated her on a good game, and hoped that she was all right.

            Easy enough to placate and deal with.

            Oliver Wood gave her a brief nod before turning away, his face rather unreadable.

            She didn't know whether she wanted to strangle him, or run up to him, slap him across the face for being such a contrary bastard, then snog him.

            Well… neither of them would really be options… so she simply didn't say anything.

            She was, in fact, about to go quietly over to her tent and finish packing when she was accosted by a decidedly predatory-looking Carl Warrington.

            "Well hello there, Cass," Warrington grinned at her, his dark eyes glinting in a way that did not bode well at all for her, "How are you feeling right now?"

            "As well as can be expected," she said brusquely, "Why, is something the matter?"

            "In fact, there is," Warrington declared, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "Now… we just won the bloody World Cup. Just so you know, you have about twenty marriage proposals that arrived last night… didn't read them, but they all had roses and frippery attached to the parchments… now, shouldn't you be bouncing with happiness right about now?"

            "I… don't… _bounce_," Cass deadpanned, "Is there a point to this?"

            "Cass, I'm _hurt_," Warrington pouted slightly, "I'm a _Slytherin_… would I ever be doing something with no _point_ to it?"

            "Stop that infernal pouting and save it for when Skyler puts you in the doghouse for bad behavior," Cass rolled her eyes, "If you do have a point, out with it."

            "Well… it's kind of something that I feel should be discussed in private… come with me?" He gave her a charming smile that boded very ill indeed, and against her better judgment, she followed him towards where the broom shed stood. And froze when she heard a familiar voice with a Scottish accent.

            "All right Zabini… what did you say you needed to show me with your broom?"

            And then the air exploded with spells, and Cass felt herself roughly flying into the broom shed immediately after Oliver Wood. And then, just as she fell into Oliver's arms, knocking the both of them onto the floor of the broom shed, the door slammed shut behind them, and there was a click of a lock being engaged.

            _"CARL WARRINGTON! SKYLER ZABINI!! YOU TWO ARE SO DEAD!!"_ Cass shrieked as she sprang up from the ground, pounding on the door with her fists. The door was shut, and knowing the two evil, heinous plotters, it would not be able to open from the inside, even with a spell.

            "I _HATE_ YOU!" Cass continued to shriek and pound at the door, the gleeful laughter on the other side indicating to her that the two evil schemers were still close by. But laugh though they did, neither of them made any move to open the door. 

            "Why are they bloody _doing_ this to me?" Cass muttered angrily, sitting down heavily on a Quidditch chest, rubbing her sore hand. Oliver stepped over one of the brooms that had been knocked down, and grabbed her hand, frowning slightly.

            "You've a bruise…" he took out his wand, and waved it over the purplish mark on her knuckles. The bruise shrunk, then disappeared. Cass scowled somewhat.

            "I didn't _ask_ you to do that," she muttered. 

            "I'm aware," he snapped, "You wouldn't."

            "Damn straight," she snapped back, then lapsed into silence. He sat down next to her.

            "Good game," he said softly, "I… still have to thank you for taking that bludger for me."

            "Oh…" she looked up quickly, feeling her cheeks heat up (_Damn him!)_, "Er… you're welcome. I was… trying to block the shot…"

            "Oh…" his tone was flat, "Of course." _What were you expecting her to say, Wood?_

            He wouldn't look at her… but even in the dim light, even though she couldn't see his face, she knew that he was scowling… and trying to hide it. Her hands clenched into fists, then she gave a long, ragged sigh and cracked.

            "Fine… I lied."

            "What?"

            "You heard me, you sod!" she snarled, "I didn't do it to block that blasted Spanish Chaser… I did it so _you_ wouldn't get hit! I… must be _crazy_, completely off my rocker… but I didn't want you to get hit! I hate you! I _hate_ that you can make me feel this way! I _hate_ that I _can't_ hate you and that you can make me make no sense and that you make things so fucking complicated! I _hate_ you, Oliver Wood, do you hear? I _hate_ you for making me fall for y—mrmph!"

            And her tirade… her most brutally honest, heartfelt confessional diatribe ever launched at him… was cut off, as Oliver Wood leaned forward, grabbed her by the shoulders firmly yet gently, and pressed his lips against hers, burning and passionate and fierce, melding into hers. She gasped; then couldn't help but moan as his hands, sliding down from her shoulders to her lower back, pulled her closer, crushing her to his chest, and he deepened his kiss, parting her lips with his own.

            Sweet Merlin…

            She had never been kissed like that… well, granted, no one had _dared_ do anything like that to her. 

            But Oliver Wood was a Gryffindor, someone who did insane, reckless, utterly crazy things… and this… was… _glorious_…

            She sighed into his mouth, and suddenly found herself kissing him back, her fingers lacing through his short brown hair, her legs somehow wrapping around his waist, pulling him even closer. His hands roamed up and down her sides, almost burning through the thin white blouse she wore, and he pulled away briefly, taking in deep breaths of much-needed air, only to bury his face in her neck a moment later, nibbling at the sensitive place where her jaw met her earlobe.

            And suddenly, light was thrown upon them, as the door opened. And there was that obnoxious laughter once again.

            "Well… I figured that since there was no longer shouting going on, someone should probably cast a Contraceptive charm on Cass here… just in case, you know?" Warrington sniggered, surveying the two disheveled people, crouched on a Quidditch chest, limbs entangled and mouths all over each other.

            And in perfect unison, Cass and Oliver shouted, _"SOD OFF!"_

            Warrington laughed, and pulled out his wand, "So, the charm?"

            Cass glared at him, "We _weren't_ going to shag…"

            "Really…" Warrington smirked at his friend, "Ah well… I'll be off, then. Be good, you too…"

            Cass glared as the other Chaser strode off, leaving the door open. "And _he_ tells _us_ to be good…"

            Oliver laughed, and put one hand on her back, "Well… you know Warrington…" he trailed off, not knowing exactly what to say. "I hope you're not going to hex me for kissing you a moment ago."

            Cass blushed, and laughed slightly, "Well… the thought has crossed my mind… but I think I'll pass. Odd, hmm?"

            "Very," he smiled at her, looking into her eyes, "You're damn beautiful, you know. Especially when you fly."

            "Now, I should be hexing you for saying sappy things to me," Cass replied, "But… again, I'll pass for now. _Honestly_, the things I do for you…"

            "Well… as long as you don't do them for anyone else, I'm perfectly happy," Oliver grinned, and reached for her hand. 

            She placed her hand in his, and allowed him to lead her out of the broom shed. "I don't think I could _stand_ doing these things for anyone else. Slytherins aren't exactly renowned for their indiscriminate niceness, you know."

            "Good," he muttered, before stopping in his tracks and pulling her back into his arms, "And it bloody better stay that way."

*~*~*~*

There! They've snogged! Be happy now! There is one more chapter, and then an epilogue. And then, that will be the completion of this story. It's been fun writing it... I hope that you all have enjoyed the reading as much as I have enjoyed the writing. Review and let me know what you think!


	20. The Win of a Lifetime

**NOTES:**

            Are you sad that it's over? No worries, there's an epilogue!

**DEDICATION:**

            To… someone!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            I never learnt the art of sharing in kindergarten, so I was therefore not allowed to own them.

*~*~*~*

            "I propose a toast, everyone!" Carl Warrington's voice rang out over the laughter of the people gathered in the banquet room. Grinning impishly, the Slytherin raised his glass and chortled, "To the _cutest_ ickle couple ever to grace the Quidditch world with their marvelous presences. Oliver and Cass… congratulations for finally coming out of denial; may there be much snarkiness and even more shagging for the rest of both your lives!"

            He ducked as Cass threw a biscuit at his head; then winced as Skyler, who was sitting next to him, swatted him upside the head. "What? It's true!"

            "Yes, perhaps," Skyler rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "But that doesn't mean that we had to hear it."

            "Oh, you threw this party with me," Warrington retorted with a grin. "Speaking of which… where are the rest of the people?"

            "Oh… Angelina has to stop by her mother-in-law's, to drop off the baby. And Blaise _should_ be here…"

            "Hullo everyone, sorry I'm late," Blaise Zabini, Slytherin Unspeakable extraordinaire, came striding in. He grinned apologetically at his sister, before taking the offered seat next to Draco Malfoy, "I got held up at the Post Office… Sky, I just had to… have words with some git or another, who wanted to know if you were _available_…" Blaise scowled, and Skyler raised an eyebrow.

            "Who? What? I _hope_ you told them that I was _not_…"

            "Well of _course_ I did," Blaise's dark, handsome face had a look of protective big-brotherly outrage, "The very _idea_…"

            "Indeed," Warrington muttered, "Does the bloke even _know_ her?"

            Blaise shook his head, looking at the other Slytherin as if finding, at long last, a commiserating confidant. "Just saw her play Quidditch. Arse thought that he was _good_ enough for _my_ sister…"

            "How dare he," Warrington narrowed his eyes, "He should be hexed beyond recognition."

            "I _know_…" Blaise growled, and Skyler, giving Warrington a reproving look, turned to her brother.

            "Blaise, I hope you didn't _really_ hex him beyond recognition, whoever he was…"

            "No comment whatsoever," Blaise answered, taking a sip of his wine, "Oh, congratulations, by the way… on winning the game. That was bloody brilliant."

            A few words of thanks greeted this statement, and Draco Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, "Blaise, I'm going to have to _disown_ you as a friend. You just quoted Ron Weasley."

            "As _you_ married Weasley's sister, you have no room to talk," Blaise shot back, even as Ginny glared at her husband and smacked his hand that was resting on her thigh.

            The crowd laughed, and the rest of the meal dissolved in merry banter.

            After the food had been cleared away, the people began forming into couples, as music filled the room. 

            Blaise, at the moment, held Carl Warrington in the highest esteem. The bloke was obviously a perceptive, sensitive fellow who knew what it must be like, fending off miscreants who were presumptuous enough to want to get with his baby sister… his baby sister who deserved someone far _better_. 

            Warrington was obviously a friend of Sky's, from how they were talking in a friendly fashion. And then, he asked her to dance.

            Blaise blinked somewhat. Well… all right… that was all right. After all, dancing was just dancing. He himself was dancing with Malfoy's wife for this one. It didn't mean anything. Right? _Right?!_

            However, his benevolent feelings towards the older Slytherin man turned to alarm and dismay when Warrington held Skyler closer to him than was necessary, and bent his head over… oh dear LORD… over Skyler's _neck_, and Skyler actually _giggled_.

            What… the… _hell_…?

             Narrowing his eyes, Blaise excused himself and walked towards his sister and… _what was Warrington DOING touching her hair?!_

            "Skyler."

            "Oh, hi, Blaise," Skyler turned her head to see her brother standing a few feet away from her and Carl Warrington. Blaise's arms were crossed over his chest, and he was looking at them suspiciously.

            "What're the two of you doing?"

            "Why, isn't it obvious?" Skyler raised an eyebrow, "Dancing."

            "I see," Blaise frowned slightly, then scowled, "_THEN WHY IS HIS HAND ON YOUR ARSE?!_"

            "It's such a nice arse," Carl Warrington said with a grin. Blaise's eyes bugged out.

            "Skyler Zabini, _what_ are you doing with this… this… _git_?!"

            "I told you, Blaise… we're dancing… although in a few hours, we'll probably be shagging," Skyler said matter-of-factly.

            Only years of iron control gained from working as an Unspeakable prevented Blaise from shrieking "You… you _traitor!!_" at Carl Warrington in an inhumanly high voice (or at least a voice too high to be male), thereby humiliating himself in front of the entire assembly and not making any sense whatsoever anyway… for really, Warrington didn't… _betray_ him… nevertheless…

            "_WHAT THE DEVIL'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?! HOW DARE YOU LAY A HAND ON MY SISTER?!_"

            "Would you prefer I lay some other body part on her instead?" Warrington asked blandly, "That can be arranged as well."

            "Oh, come off it, Blaise… I'm a grown woman now. I can shag whomever I please, and moreover… much as this might shock you, we're in love. And if you don't want _him_ to lay a hand on _me_, well… I will just have to lay my hands on him, hmm?"

            "My sweet… sweet _baby_ sister…" Blaise muttered in disbelief. Skyler gave an unladylike snort.

            "Don't insult me, Blaisey… I'm _not_ sweet… and I'm _certainly_ not a baby…"

            "Oh, you're _quite_ sweet," Warrington whispered into her hair, his lips brushing against her earlobe, "But I will have to concur about the 'not baby' part…" Saying so, he gave the horrified Blaise an impudent smile, and caught Skyler's lips in his own. Skyler kissed him back enthusiastically, and poor Blaise found it necessary to sit down at the nearest seat so that he did not faint in a completely un-masculine manner from the horror.

            Skyler glanced pityingly at her shell-shocked brother, sitting at a table several feet away from them, watching them with horror-struck eyes. "That _was_ rather mean of us…"

            "I know," Warrington put on a solemn face for a moment, then grinned, "Perhaps we should set your brother up with your friend Alice over there, to… ah… _distract_ him?"

            Skyler looked at him like he had grown two heads, "You want to set _my_ brother up with a female Beater. Merlin, just because _you_ obviously have masochistic tendencies for pursuing the type doesn't mean that _he_ does, too… and especially a female Beater with a boyfriend."

            "Boyfriend?" Warrington raised an eyebrow, "Oh… didn't know that. Too bad… your brother seems the type to need some unbridled shagging."

            "Not a pleasant mental image, thank you very much," Skyler rolled her eyes, "He'll get over it sometime. Expect a few howlers in the next few days, though."

            "I'd be most _insulted_ if I didn't get any," he reassured her, laughing, "Not every day his sister goes off with a complete rogue."

            "True…" Skyler acknowledged with a grin, "Whatever was I thinking?"

            "Whatever you _were_ thinking, keep on thinking it," he declared, "And I'm going to take you at your word about the shagging in a few hours."

*          *          *

            As the hapless Blaise Zabini was sitting at a table, having a conniption of gargantuan proportions over the lost innocence of his sister (assuming that she ever had any), Oliver and Cass were sitting at another table.

            "I hate dancing," Cass had informed him, "It's nothing compared to Quidditch."

            It was a good thing that they agreed on that point.

            And so, the two found themselves occupied in far more pleasant activities; that is, they were having an animated debate about various Quidditch tactics used by the Spanish team during the World Cup.

            This took a good portion of two hours, and then, Cass took a surreptitious look at the others. Most were still dancing. Blaise Zabini was sitting by himself, drinking. She shook her head.

            "Poor sod…"

            "Hmm?" Oliver turned his head in the direction that she was looking, and frowned slightly, "What's he doing drinking like that?"

            Cass smiled wryly, "I think he just found out that Sky was shagging Warrington."

            Oliver winced, "Oh dear… that can't be good…"

            "From the way Sky and Carl are grinning… it must have been very ugly indeed," Cass whispered in his ear, "Well, this is what older brothers _get_ for being overprotective prats."

            Oliver looked down at her face. Her eyes were narrowed, her expression mutinous. Taking one of her hands in his own, he caressed her palm with his thumb, and said softly, "I'm sure that Marcus… deep down… is proud of you. For having the guts to stand up to him, among other things… not to mention… that he's the brother of the finest ruddy Chaser of the time."

            Cass gave him a wry smile, "If you say so…"

            "I do," Oliver said firmly, "And I know that… _I_ would be proud of you. Damn proud… if you were my sister… but…" he kissed the hand he held in his own, and grinned impishly at her, "Have to say that I'm glad you're not."

             Cass gave him a long look, then glanced at the crowd once again, before turning back to him. "Say… I never _did_ tell you where I lived, did I?"

            "No, you never did… would have been mightily convenient… that time you were drunk," Oliver chuckled, "Although… I wouldn't have seen you in my Quidditch robes then, so I suppose it was all good after all."

            Cass gave him a catty grin, and pulled his hand towards the exit, "Say… I've a proposition for you, Wood."

            "Oh, let's hear it, Flint," Oliver looked at her, eyes glinting.

            "I think that it would be best for me to give you a tour of my flat," she purred in his ear, as she continued pulling him towards the door, "And as for wearing your Quidditch robes… well, I know I've a red bed sheet somewhere… I'm sure we can improvise…"

            Oliver raised an eyebrow; then grinned, "I like the proposition a lot."

            "I figured you would," she whispered huskily in his ear, "It's providential… you're going to be spending a lot of time at my flat in the near future, I believe."

            Oliver smiled as he pulled her willing form into his arms, "Who said anything about the _near_ future?" he murmured into her dark hair, "The far future too, if I have any say in the matter. How does the next, oh… eighty or so years sound?"

            Cass paused, and looked at him, eyes wide, "Is this what I think this is?"

            "If you wish, then it is," Oliver said seriously, gazing down at her, one hand on her arm, "I know this is rather fast… but I figured… well, you're something special, Cass… and I want you in my life for as long as I can possibly keep you."

            She gazed at him in shock for a moment, then grinned and threw her arms around him, "Sounds like a plan to me," she laughed, "Now… we were talking about a tour of my flat?"

            "Lead the way," Oliver pulled her close, one hand resting on her hip, the other stroking her cheek.

            Cass grinned, and leaned up to seal all their agreements with a kiss. And a moment later, the two Disapparated with a pop.

            Now… _there_ was a win of a lifetime!

*~*~*~*

WHEEE!!! Finished fic! Epilogue coming soon!! Review!!


	21. Epilogue

**NOTES:**

            Yes, this is it! The end! No more for this fic… hope you had fun reading it as I did writing it!

**DEDICATION:**

            A big glomp to all of my reviewers: thanks for the feedback and encouragement!

**DISCLAIMER:**

            If after 21 chapters for this fic alone… and heaven knows how many _other_ things I've written… you _still_ think I own Harry Potter, you suck.

*~*~*~*

            "No, for the 359th time, you may _not_!"

            "You're horrible! I did _not_ marry you because you were an overbearing prat!"

            "Cass, I love you even more than I love Quidditch, and I want you to be happy no matter what, but you will _not_ go cavorting about on a broomstick when you are pregnant with our baby!"

            Cass crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, and Oliver ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated expression on his face, "Even your friend Skyler, the evil plotter herself, was _reasonable_ about this when _she_ was expecting."

            "That's because her actually behaving herself would be far more disturbing and alarming to Warrington than her giving him an argument," Cass rolled her eyes. Oliver gave an exasperated sigh, and put his hands on her shoulders.

            "Then, can't _you_ alarm me by not giving me an argument over this?"

            "But—but… we _need_ a broomstick in the house! What is going to happen when I go into labor and you panic, and I don't have a broomstick on hand to hit you over the head with to snap you out of it, so you can take me to the hospital?"

            "Oh, that will be completely unnecessary," Oliver said quickly, "You've an arm like a catapult, I'm sure that when the time comes, you can slap me or something, and it should suffice."

            "At least a Muggle broomstick? A _MUGGLE_ broomstick?" Cass wheedled. Oliver shook his head firmly.

            "Muggle items can be enchanted. I've known the Weasleys for _years_… don't think that you can pull _that_ trick on me."

            "Damn…" Cass grumbled, "This is really quite annoying."

            "I know, love…" he sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. Kissing her cheek, he gave her a lopsided smile, "It'll be over soon."

            She sighed, but gave him a small smile, "I know… let's hope that Marcus doesn't kill you when the time comes…"

            "Well, he didn't kill me at the wedding… I don't see why he would try to kill me now," Oliver said reasonably. Cass laughed.

            "Well… at the wedding, Karen had slipped _Tranquilius_ potion into his champagne…"

            Oliver's eyes widened, and Cass giggled. "I'll tell Karen to bring some more when the time comes, all right?"

            "Yes… yes…" Oliver said hurriedly. Then, his harried expression was replaced by a tender one, "He's going to be a Keeper when he gets older," he laid a large hand on her bulging belly.

            "No… _SHE_ is going to be a Chaser."

            "Keeper."

            "Chaser!"

            "Keeper!"

            "Shut up," she admonished, leaning forward and pressing her lips firmly against his. He did as she asked, hands reaching down and resting on her back as hers tangled in his hair, their mouths moving over each other. 

            Cass leaned into the kiss for a moment, then pulled away suddenly, her eyes wide. "Shit!"

            "What?" Oliver looked at her, alarmed at the sudden change in her demeanor. She mutely pointed down, and he saw a puddle of water on the couch.

            Needless to say, he panicked.

            "I _told_ you we should have kept a broomstick in the house," Cass grunted even as a wave of pain shot through her. She slapped him hard, snapping him out of it, and the last thing that she said before he Apparated the both of them to St. Mungo's was, "You're a bastard, do you know that? Oww… tell me why I love you again?"

            Of course… it was a rhetorical question. She knew the answer: there was none. Perhaps she was daft for loving him… but that was the way things were. And for once, she had no problems with it.

*~*~*~* FIN *~*~*~*

_An emerald is as green as grass;  
A ruby red as blood;  
A sapphire shines as blue as heaven;  
A flint lies in the mud. _

_A diamond is a brilliant stone,  
To catch the world's desire;  
An opal holds a fiery spark;  
But a flint holds fire._

_~Christina Rossetti~_

*~*~*~*

WHEEEEEEE!!!!! AND IT'S DONE!!!!!!


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